


The Months He Forgot

by carrose



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, F/M, M/M, Megstiel - Freeform, Mind Control, hurt!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-08 18:44:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 28,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrose/pseuds/carrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in season 8 after Castiel killed Samandriel and returned to heaven (Torn and Frayed 8.10). The Winchesters receive no contact from him for months, until Sam prays one desperate prayer after Dean suffers a serious car accident and may not recover. Upon his return they find that perhaps Cas may have a bit of a problem of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sleepyhead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Passion Pit)

Sam groaned into his palms and rubbed his eyelids with the heels of his hands, his shoulders hunched as he cradled his head in his hands.

"Cas, I don't know where you've been the past few months, and I don't even really care. I'm sure you have your reasons for not answering me, but I think you need to know... when I say Dean's hurt, I don't mean something superficial that he'll recover from in a few months. I- I think he's dying." Sam's voice had started to crack and he knew if he'd had any tears left, they'd be streaking down his hot face. He focused on the slow, irregular beeping sound that signaled his brother's weak heartbeats and willed his voice to obey him. "I don't know if you can hear me, or even care, but if there's any part of you that's still listening," Sam took a deep, ragged breath. "We could really use you here, man." Sitting back in the uncomfortable pastel-colored chair, Sam pulled his hands from his face and was surprised to find them wet from his salty tears. He wiped them on his jeans and winced as he took in the feeble form under the thin, hospital blankets. He reached for his brother's hand, careful not to disrupt the mass of wires and tubes attempting to keep Dean alive. His brother's hand was cold and clammy, Sam swore it grew lighter everyday, and the veins of his hand grew more and more pronounced through his ashen skin.

It wasn't the first time he's prayed to Cas, he felt like he never really stopped. It's been almost two months since Dean had crashed the Impala into a guard rail on highway nine. He'd been drinking alone in the car, Sam had never seen him drive drunk before, when Dean failed to slow down enough to take a tight corner. The wreck hadn't been all that serious, he hadn't been going more than forty, but the metal rod that was bent from a past accident found its way through Deans window and into his torso, puncturing a lung. Sam couldn't stop picturing all the blood he'd found on the road when he'd showed up to tow the car whenever he heard the faint clicking and air flow of the machine working to push oxygen into Dean's ragged chest. Dean would probably be furious about the state of his baby (but not nearly as furious as Sam would be about the drinking), if he ever opened his eyes. The various doctors and nurses had explained to Sam again and again about how they thought it better to keep him sedated so he wouldn't wake and fight the intubation tube blocking his airway. As much as Sam wanted to see his brother conscious, especially if he didn't pull through, how could he argue?

"Sam." The gravelly voice made him jump. His head shot up to take in the trench-coated figure now positioned at the end of the bed. Sam felt his jaw drop open, appalled that their angel had shown his face at last. "What's happened?"

"Cas." Sam's voice came out little more than a whisper. "I didn't think you'd come."

Castiel's gaze left Sam's face to take in the rest of the room. His face hardened when his eyes fell on the crumpled form, almost completely still on the hospital bed. Cas' eyes narrowed into slits as they traced the thin limbs, pale face, and sunken skin that could barely be recognized as Dean Winchester. "Why didn't you call me sooner, Sam?" His voice was a low monotone, but Sam could sense the blame that his words implied.

Sam felt his eyes widen and the anger boil up in his chest. "Cas, I haven't stopped praying to you since it happened-"

"What exactly did happen, Sam?" Cas interrupted.

"Dean crashed the Impala, a pole pierced his chest," Sam spat out, not willing to forgive him yet.

Cas approached the side of the bed opposite Sam, examining Dean closer. "He punctured a lung, didn't he?" He glanced up at Sam to take in his nod.

"Amongst other things. Excuse me for saying this, but where the hell have you been, Cas?"

"I'm not sure I understand what you mean?"

Sam was sure his impatience was becoming clear all over his face. "I've been trying to get you to get your feathery ass down here for months, Cas. Months." Sam sighed to calm himself, "Dean's done nothing but get worse and he hasn't been conscious since they brought him in."

Cas' face looked pensive. His voice echoed Sam's, "Months." Castiel was silent for a few moments, his eyes staring out the window. "Sam, I think it's safe to assume my thoughts and perceptions have been tampered with. I only recall being absent from your presence for a few days." Cas pulled his eyes away from the angry clouds littering the sky, they returned to rest on Dean's crumpled body. "My powers may have been affected, but I'll do what I can to heal Dean." He took a few measured steps until Dean's forehead was within arm's length. When Cas' fingers pressed onto Dean's temple, Sam saw Cas' eyes widen ever-so-slightly, taking in the unsettling coolness of Dean's skin.

Upon contact, Dean's eyes popped open, revealing the long-hidden green irises Sam had hoped he's get to see again. A choking sound began emanating from Dean's chest, his eyes darted from Sam and then to Cas' face, full of questions and panic, his hands rising to clamp around his throat, his cough now becoming louder and more alarming.

"Dean, it's fine, they intubated you, I'll get the nurse," he tried to calm him. Sam had backed towards the door and now he wrenched it open, searching for the nearest person in scrubs. He spotted a woman at the nurses' station. "Help! My brother needs help!" The woman's head jerked up at the volume of Sam's shouts and she quickly jogged over and into Dean's room.

"He must be fighting intubation," she stated matter-of-factly as she lowered the section of bed supporting Dean's head. Her quick hands got a hold of the contraption hooked around Dean's ears,and she steadily and slowly removed the tubing, trying to spare Dean as much pain and discomfort as possible. As soon as the machinery cleared his airway, Dean wiped his watering eyes and tried to speak. This just started him coughing again and the nurse scolded him for his effort. "You should try and stay quiet, your throat's gonna be pretty raw for awhile. I'll go get you some water and let your doctor know what's going on." Sam took in the subtle emotions playing across her face: confusion, disbelief.

As soon as she was out of sight and ear shot, Dean tried again, "What the hell is going on?!" he asked, his voice sounding like he'd gargled with a handful of gravel. He cleared his throat and tried to swallow as he waited for someone to answer him.


	2. Tell Me I'm a Wreck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Every Avenue) Waking up from a drug-induced coma after a few months has its implications.

"How are you feeling Dean?" Sam ventured.

"I'm fine, now answer my goddamn question!" Dean's throat was killing him, he felt like he'd chugged gasoline and then lit his tongue on fire. He looked at the faces of the two men (loose translation of the word, he admitted) and took in their wary expressions. It was then that he felt the tug of the IV and the tubes in his arm, felt how hard it was for him to lift his arms up off the bed. Refusing to wait any longer for an explanation, Dean stripped the blankets and sheets off of the bed, revealing his gown and the withered body that he barely recognized as his own. He felt his breath catch in his throat in the midst of a sharp intake and he focused on the pinch of the needle in his arm to keep the shock off of his face. "Can you guys give me a minute?"

He looked up to see Sam give him a nod, his face thoughtful, and Cas' intense stare finally left Dean's face as he followed Sam out into the hallway.

It was then that Dean dared to remove his gown, looking down at his bare skin. His eyes sought out his chest first. Angry, gnarled skin glared up at him. Dean had seen enough injuries to know it wasn't new, and paired with the deteriorated state of the muscles in his arms and legs, making them feel weaker than they ever had, he knew he must have been lying in this bed for quite a while.

He had no recollection of the events that must have unfolded to put him here – the last thing he remembered was when he and Sam had been doing research in the Batcave. Not so much "research" as Dean opening his fifth can of beer in his room while he could hear the faint flutter produced whenever Sam turned a page; something that had become a nearly nightly ritual these days.

Dean wracked his brain, trying to come up with an explanation for the wound beginning to scar and the heaviness of his chest that he felt every time he inhaled-there must have been a few broken ribs at least. He came up with jack shit.

He slowly worked the gown back onto his shoulders and laid back, trying to summon the strength to get up. Just then, a tall, dark-haired man with glasses strolled into the room, holding a chart and clicking a pen. Dean's eyes followed him until he stopped to stand at the foot of the bed, finally looking up.

"Mr. Winchester," the doctor glanced down at his chart again, "it seems you're offering the medical staff a bit of a puzzle."

"Why's that," Dean managed to choke out, not really making it a question, and not really caring to hear the answer. He searched the room in his peripheral vision for a sign of his clothes, planning to leave as soon as the chance presented itself.

"Well, for starters, you shouldn't be conscious." The doctor held Dean's gaze, emanating seriousness. "We'd given you enough sedative to keep a horse down, yet here you are, eyes open, seemingly in control of your mental capacities. I'm also a bit confused as to how you aren't coughing up blood, let alone able to speak to me." The doctor paused to let the information sink it, gauging Dean's reaction (no doubt expecting some surprise).

Dean was less than sorry to disappoint him, "Guess I'm just lucky," he muttered, not trying to hide his accompanying eye roll.

"Lucky, indeed," the doctor agreed, absentmindedly. "Regardless, I'm going to have to keep a close eye on you for the next week or so, at least. For now I'd like to have a listen to your breathing." The doctor had removed his stethoscope from around his neck, moving to place it on each of Dean's shoulder blades. After a few moments, he pulled back with a quizzical look playing across his face. Dean leaned back against his pillows, relieved. "Your lung sounds- well they both sound really strong, actually." The lack of reaction or outburst from Dean was off-putting the man, Dean could tell. He straightened up, preparing to leave. "Well, I'll try to have someone take you up in a few hours for an x-ray. Until then, if you have any questions- I suppose you brother can answer most of them for you. If you have any medical questions, just let the nurses know. I'm Dr. Rodson, I'll be around." With that, the glasses-clad man left the room, and Sam and Cas entered.

"So, are you going to be okay? Did he tell you what happened?" Sam inquired.

"Nope, you'll have to fill me in," Dean stated, "and I'm assuming Cas, here, healed me, so I'll be fine." Dean glanced at Cas, who was gazing out the large window in the wall opposite the door.

"Well," Sam began, "you got in a car wreck, Dean."

"When?"

"Almost two months ago." Dean took in Sam's raised eyebrows and earnest look, decided he must be telling him the truth.

"So I've been in here for two freakin' months?! Why didn't you do something sooner, Cas?" Dean knew he should be thankful the angel had healed him at all, after being MIA ever since they'd rescued Samandriel.

"Dean, I-" Cas began.

Sam cut him off: "We think something might have happened to Cas. We're not sure what yet, but we'll figure it out. You sure you're feeling okay? Cas might not have been able to get you back to your normal self."

"Yes, I can sense that my powers are very much dwindling. Dean, you are going to require some rest before you're at your full capacity." Cas added.

"Forget rest, we've got to figure out what's happened to you, Cas!" Dean began pulling the wires and tubes from his body, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and putting weight on them before Sam or Cas could stop him. Once he was vertical he began to fall, and Cas caught him by the elbow before he could hit the ground. Dean felt lightheaded and he gripped Cas' shoulder for support. "Oh, I'm fine just give me a minute." A few moments passed while Dean waited for the stars to clear, then he set off again with determination, willing himself to stay upright.

And that's when Dean passed out.


	3. No Way But the Hard Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Airbourne) Never take being able to dress yourself for granted.

After Cas had managed to wrap an arm around Dean's waist right before he collapsed onto the ground, he'd had just enough angel mojo to zap Dean into the car Sam had parked in the lot. Cas didn't seem to think Dean had any serious injuries left that would require medical attention, so Sam thought it best to get him back to the bunker, if anything to avoid any extra curiosity from the hospital staff. Plus, Dean would probably be pleased to be in his own bed.

Getting him from the car to his room had been a bit of a struggle; he was dead weight and Sam wanted to be extra careful with him. He still looked pretty pale and Cas' powers had only done so much healing-wise. But Dean had lost about twenty pounds, mainly muscle, during his stay, so they got him to his mattress with a minimal amount of bruising.

"How much you wanna bet he'll want a burger when he wakes up?" Sam joked.

"Knowing him, I think it would be wise to decline on that particular bet." Cas pulled off a small smirk, but Sam could tell his thoughts were elsewhere.

"Well, tell him I'm at the diner down the road getting 'supplies' if he wakes up. You'll stay, won't you Cas?"

"I think that's probably a good idea, considering our current situation," Cas agreed.

Sam nodded and shrugged into his jacket, finding the keys in the pocket. As he stepped through the door, he heard Cas call:

"Might as well get some pie too, Sam." Sam had to feel his upturned lips with his fingers to confirm that he was, in fact, smiling for the first time in months.

…

Dean woke with a start and had to look around at where he was. Thankfully, he was pretty used to not recognizing where he woke up, years of living on the road and in motel rooms does that to you. When his eyes sought out the picture next to his lamp and he took a long swig out of the water glass on his bedside table, he finally let himself relax – then the memories of the day came rushing back; waking up in the hospital, seeing Cas for the first time in a long time. He had to make sure he hadn't dreamed it all, even though the weakness of his body and the roughness of his throat told him he hadn't:

"Sam?" he called. No answer. He hesitated then tried another name, much quieter: "Cas?"

"Hello, Dean." The mono-tonal voice answered, sending shivers down Dean's spine. He wanted to sigh in relief as he watched the angel's form fill the doorway to his room. "Sam's on a supply run."

"It's good to see your face, man," Dean said. He started to swing one leg over the side of the bed to wrap the angel in a bear hug before Cas rushed forward, pushing his chest back down, flattening Dean on the bed. Dean was about to mutter something suggestive before Cas spoke:

"It's probably best if you don't get up, Dean. It didn't quite work at the hospital." Cas' reminder brought the somewhat suppressed memory to the forefront of his mind.

"Don't you dare mention the word 'faint'," Dean warned as the events replayed themselves in his head. He could feel the blood flooding his face as the memory became more and more coherent.

Cas didn't respond, instead he grinned and his eyes wandered around Dean's room and the decor. Dean suddenly felt self-conscious about his ineptitude at decorating. He knew it wasn't important but he found himself wanting to ask Cas what he thought. Instead, Dean asked a different question: "So what exactly do you remember, Cas? You and Sam said before..." he trailed off, not sure enough off the details to repeat them.

Cas didn't reply at first, his eyes on Dean's nightstand, Dean guessed more specifically on the picture of his mom.

"Cas?" Dean prodded. He waited for Castiel to meet his eyes, but he wouldn't.

"Dean, I want you to know something," Cas shifted his gaze from the picture to the chair facing the bed. "If I had known what had happened to you-" Cas started, but Dean stopped him right there.

"But you didn't know, Cas, how could you?" Cas finally met Dean's eyes, "And you did what you could now that you do know. Regardless of all that..." Dean sighed, "don't feel like you owe me anything, Cas. Or Sam, for that matter." He rubbed his hand across his chin absentmindedly, his stubble produced a scratching sound – breaking the silence a little, "You have a right to live your life separate from Sam and me." Now Dean avoided Cas' eyes, looking down at his gown, suddenly remembering he had access to something that didn't resemble a dress. He pushed the hem further down, past his knees. When he looked back at Cas, his eyes were still on him.

"I can't say I agree with that wholly, Dean," the angel said at last.

"Well, you do, Cas." Dean had had enough of the deep conversation, "Now would you mind getting me some clothes out of that dresser?"

Cas' head moved in the direction that Dean was pointing before he walked over. Dean heard him open a drawer, his own eyes were on his own legs again, giving them the once-over again without the angel watching his examination.

"Uh, Dean?" Dean's head snapped up to see Cas rummaging through his underwear drawer, his socks and boxers in complete disarray.

Dean chuckled, "The other stuff's in the next drawer, Cas," he barked, the rawness of his throat making him reach for the water glass again.

Cas brought him his clothes, setting them on the edge of the bed. "Do you need help? Because-"

Dean cut him off before he could get any farther, "That won't be necessary, Cas. But I could use some privacy."

Cas nodded and made his way out into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

Dean used his arms to swing his legs off the side of the bed and sat up, he was relieved to be alone with his thoughts and his foreign-feeling body, at last. He managed to get the gown off relatively easily – there were snaps in the back so he didn't have to pull it over his head. He used a combination of shimmying and bending to get the boxers around his feet and up his legs. He laid back to pull them up in their proper place. The effort left him breathless, he laid there for a moment, catching his breath. He debated giving up and just staying in his underwear but thought I hunt demons, I can fucking dress myself and he sat back up to thread his feet into the legs of his sweats. When he had worked the waist up past his knees, he leaned too far and lost his balance, sliding off the side of the bed. "Shit!" He prayed Cas hadn't heard the thump as he hit the ground or his following exclamation..

"Dean." No such luck. Dean let his head hit the floor with a smack as the shame welled up.

"I'm fine, Cas, just leave me alone." He waited for the sound of the door closing – instead he jumped when he felt a pair of warm, strong hands grip his shoulders. Before he knew it, he was vertical, leaning on Cas.

Dean couldn't look at him, "Dammit, Cas, I said 'leave me alone'!" His shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Shut up, Dean" the angel growled. He continued to hold Dean's shoulders with one arm enclosing him while he used the other to quickly pull Dean's sweats the rest of the way up. He picked Dean's t-shirt up off the bed and shoved it into Dean's empty arms, only pausing for a moment to stare at the angry skin puckered on his chest. Dean still refused to look at Cas, scowling as he pulled the shirt up over his head.

"Okay, I'm fully clothed, you can leave now." Dean resigned himself to the bed, turning away from Cas and his probing eyes, fully aware of how much he resmbled a pouting toddler. When Cas stayed where he was, Dean turned back to make some smart ass comment, but Cas' expression gave him pause. Cas' eyes were on Dean's frame and Dean followed their gaze, noticing what Cas was: the clothes that had previously fit now hung off of him, loose in all the wrong places. He was practically swimming in his clothes. When Dean looked back at the angel, he'd turned around to hide his expression before making his way out of the room.

Dean returned to taking inventory of his foreign body, too taken aback to come up with anything to shout after Cas.

Author's Note:

Hey guys, thanks for reading!


	4. Dani California

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Red Hot Chili Peppers) Cas is pretty good at poker.

Sam could feel the tension leaving his shoulders whenever he took in Dean's conscious face – that lit up and laid-back smile that Sam was sure he had begun to forget in its absence. And it hadn't just been missing when Dean had been unconscious in the hospital – the smile had been absent from his face for much longer than that. He couldn't be sure, but Sam was beginning to believe Dean's constant drinking and depression before the accident had something to do with a certain lack of Cas.

Now that Dean's smile had returned – amid his injuries and the mystery surrounding Cas, no less – Sam was sure his brother's behavior was related to the angel's prolonged disappearance.

It'd been a week since Cas' return, and while Dean was getting stronger and not sleeping all day long as he first had, Castiel still hadn't remembered anything useful.

There wasn't much that they could do except wait for leads. Dean was less than impressed by this plan of action, and he voiced his opinion every chance he got:

"Sammy, there's gotta be some lore on angel amnesia, or something along those lines, at least!"

"Come on, give me more credit than that, I've looked."

"Well keep looking!" Dean would order.

Sam's response would always be something like, "You know, you seem to be doing pretty well, Dean. I'm sure you'd have no trouble doing some reading and researching yourself." And then Dean would laugh and mutter something about paper cuts and being too weak to turn the pages and they would both crack up.

Despite the fun they were having with their brotherly bonding, Castiel was worrying them both. If he was in the room, he was usually silent and deep in thought. When he wasn't in Dean's room, he wandered aimlessly throughout the bunker, taking in the Men of Letters artifacts – but always with a pensive, thoughtful look on his face.

Sam had tried to get him to open up and talk to him, but Cas wouldn't offer up more than a couple words in response. With the "more profound bond" and all, Dean had assured Sam that he'd gotten Cas to talk a little more when it was just the two of them, so Dean did whatever he could to keep Cas with him. Sam figured Dean enjoyed the time with Cas himself too, he was certain their time together was majorly responsible for the color to Dean's previously ashen cheeks, his fast-paced recovery, and for his good moods.

…

He was very pleased that he could now walk a short distance by himself. His face darkened with embarrassment every time Sam or Cas had to offer their shoulder for support on his way to the kitchen or the bathroom (although Dean did all that he could to keep from leaning on Cas). Ever since he'd helped him during his first day back at the bunker, Dean had found it a little bit harder to look Cas in the face. He tried to ignore it as best he could, it was more important to keep Cas around long enough to figure out what happened to him than to nurse his injured pride.

Dean spent most of his time trying to get Cas to open up to him; ever since he'd gotten back he hadn't exactly been an open book. So far, he'd been able to teach him all the card games he knew, and poker was proving to be Cas' favorite game – once he learned the object is to keep your opponent from knowing the cards in your hand.

Dean would put some of his old records on and deal the cards while Cas watched him with intensity, his eyes following Dean's hands as they fidgeted atop the table they'd moved into Dean's room for this purpose.

"Alright, small blind's ten, big blind's twenty, and the game is Texas Hold'em." Cas picked up the two cards Dean had laid in front of him before he put in his bet and blind. Dean suppressed a chuckle, taking in Cas' bunched-up eyebrows and pursed lips – his poker face of choice.

"Damn, Cas, don't pop a blood vessel," he joked, smiling as Cas' eyes lifted from his cards to meet his own. Cas remained serious for a moment before his lips spread into an accompanying smile.

"Shut up, Dean," Cas said, his eyes twinkling a little, "I'm not great at hiding expressions. And I'm finding it increasingly difficult to not look at your cards."

Dean's jaw dropped, staring at the angel, "You mean to tell me that you know what my cards are? Have you been cheating this whole time?" He eyed to pile of chips in Cas' possession with disbelief.

"Of course not. I have some restraint, you know," Cas answered. "At least more than you humans seem to possess," he added with a smirk.

Dean's smile grew wider as he put in his bet, "Oh, we're gonna play the whole superior-angel-being card, are we? Let me tell you something, Cas," he paused to burn and turn the first three cards in the center of the table, "sometimes restraint isn't all that worth the effort."

"For instance?" Dean looked up from his cards to find the angel's eyes on him again, curiosity swimming in them.

He thought for a moment before answering, watched Cas put in his bet, "Well, I've found that restraint is overrated when it comes to food, and when it comes to women."

"And by 'women,' you mean sex," Castiel amended, his eyes remaining on the cards. Dean put in his bet and dealt another card.

"Ultimately, yeah," Dean agreed. A thought crossed his mind, "and you're still a virgin.." he trailed off in disbelief, shaking his head. The angel had always been a mystery to him.

Cas didn't reply, instead he raised Dean and pushed in a hefty pile of chips for him to match. There was a slight smile tinged at his cheeks, Dean counted out his chips and pushed them in with Cas' with a wink. The final card was turned and they checked, awaiting the winner. Cas turned his cards over to reveal his hand of three queens. Dean feigned surprise at the good hand, not turning his over before picking up the cards, muttering something about 'cheating angels'. He'd stopped exclusively playing to win when he'd discovered the mischievous smile that would break out on Castiel's face whenever he made a big win. He was careful to keep their wins and losses closely equal, enjoying the angel's heartfelt reactions to the game itself.


	5. Bright Side of the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Van Morrison) The first time Dean's let anyone besides Sammy under the hood of the Impala.

Dean was leaning on the roof of the car, his arms holding him up with his forehead resting on the hot metal. He was afraid to open his eyes again, and he was hoping that they'd been playing tricks on him a minute ago. He felt Sam's heavy hand clap his back, "S'not that bad, Dean." Dean groaned in response. "Seriously, man, you'll have her back to normal in no time." He risked opening one of his eyes, then leaned more heavily on the car.

"I just... I need a minute," he joked. Sam chuckled behind him. He stood up straight and exhaled deeply. He'd seen his baby in much worse conditions, and to be completely honest with himself he was relieved to have something to do while they waited for leads about Cas' situation. He shuffled over to the toolbox Sam had wheeled out for him, searching the drawers for where he should start. Sam watched him, no doubt trying to determine if he was strong enough for manual labor. "Sammy, don't worry about me. Fixing baby isn't that strenuous," he winked and nodded towards the house, delegating Sam to leave him to his work. He turned back to the toolbox when he heard Sam's footsteps crunch away on the gravel. Saying a silent prayer, he opened the bottom drawer and sighed in relief to find a hammer and puller set. He put them aside and then grabbed a frame straightener and turned back to face the twisted metal and broken glass.

…

It had taken Cas approximately two days to get bored of the inside of the bunker without Dean to entertain him. He'd taken to sitting on an old cooler and watching him work. Dean might have been annoyed if it had been someone else, but he had to admit that he enjoyed it when Cas' eyes got wide with confusion whenever he asked him to pass him a tool from under the car. Dean used the most obscure names of the tools he could in order to ensure Cas' ignorance and wouldn't hesitate to laugh when Cas' face would materialize closer to the Impala and the ground and he'd huff "and what does that one look like, Dean?" with exasperation.

But it'd been too short a time before Cas could recognize all of them by name and he'd stopped asking what they looked like and started asking what they did. Before long, Dean had begun teaching the angel the basics.

"Alright. So now we're gonna get some of the dents out towards the back," he handed the man the puller, pointing towards the area. Cas approached the dent, stared intently at it, glanced up a Dean, back at the scratched-up metal, then at the plunger-like object in his hand. Dean held in his laughter for as long as he could before it burst out of him. The sheer volume of hilarity startled Cas and his shoulders twitched before he scowled at the guffawing man who now had his hands wrapped around his midsection. It took him a few minutes, but Dean settled, his old bruising on his ribs a little sore from the outburst. Totally worth it, he thought. He stepped closer to the angel, took the tool from him, and bent closer to the dent. He gasped a little from the pain in his side, but ignored it. He looked back and flinched at the proximity of the blue irises that occupied most of his vision; Cas was standing directly behind Dean with his head hovering over his shoulder, his eyes intent on the tool in Dean's hand. "Geez, Cas. Would ya turn down the brights a little?" The hue of his eyes was so crazy blue, and frankly Dean was suddenly unconvinced that they could occur naturally in nature. "Angels don't wear contacts, do they?"

Cas turned the objects in question on him, then, and the angel looked confused. Part of Dean wanted to look away but he simply couldn't tear his gaze from the deep coloring, the differing shades that created a depth that he hadn't noticed before. He always knew they were bright blue, but those dark splotches near his pupils and the light ones that almost looked silver-"What are you talking about, Dean?" Castiel interrupted his reverie. Dean shook his head, collecting his thoughts. He reminded himself of the kind of gay jokes Sam would bust out if he'd witnessed Dean's daydreaming. Logic and common sense restored, he cleared his throat and turned back to the car.

"Nothing," he muttered, and he lined the puller up to the car, placing the suction cup over one of the bigger dents. He was all too aware of the angel watching his actions, his breath a little hot on his left ear. Dean felt sweat break out across his forehead, and he found it hard to keep his breathing regular. He blinked a few times, dispelling the sudden haze that clouded his thoughts. "Hey, Cas? You mind taking a step back?" As the man put more space between them, Dean's shoulders relaxed and he was finally able to demonstrate the tool's use.

They spent the next two hours circling the car, using various techniques to restore the car's smooth exterior. They'd gotten the majority of the bigger ones out before Dean resigned himself to Cas' cooler and watched him work for a while, the heat and the exertion taking the last of his dwindling energy. He wanted to go inside and sleep but he liked watching Cas scope out each dimple in the body of the car, his eyebrows pushed together in seriousness and concentration. He'd just closed his eyes for a second to rest them before he felt a strong grip on his shoulder.

"Dean, you need to rest," the angel's hands slipped under Dean's arms, and he lifted Dean to his feet. Dean was having trouble keeping his eyes open and he tried to protest but it came out as nothing more than a sleepy grumble. He was vaguely aware that he was once again leaning against the angel (he seemed to be doing a lot of that lately), but his lethargy kept him from feeling the shame he would surely remember tomorrow.

Upon drifting in and out of consciousness on the way, Dean opened his eyes to recognize his bed and room, and he let the angel lead him to the former. He collapsed onto the springy mattress and Dean was pretty sure he could hear the angel chuckling a little. Dean managed to grab one of Cas' hands as he withdrew it from Dean's shoulder. "Y'know you don't laugh enough. I like when you laugh," he mumbled. He let Cas' hand drop, wondering if the angel could even make sense of his slurred words. He rolled over to glance up at the him but sleep clutched him before he could open his eyes.


	6. Smoke on the Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Deep Purple) Boys have a silly way of showing their affections.

Dean took his time waking up. He opened one eye to take in the familiar setting of his now cluttered room – clothes were piled on the chair next to his dresser and papers littered his desk. He exhaled deeply before opening his other eye. Sitting up, he realized he had slept on top of the covers, all of his clothes remained from the day before. He bent to unlace his boots, letting the blood rush back into his toes.

A sudden realization hit him – a vague recollection of words uttered in semi-consciousness, and he hoped to hell that he'd been dreaming.

"I like it when you laugh?" he repeated with disbelief. Where had that come from? If he wasn't careful, Cas, a celestial being with barely any knowledge of human intimacy and closeness, well even he would think he was being totally gay. Which I'm not, Dean thought. Although the memory was becoming clearer and clearer in is mind – along with the time they'd spent together the day before repairing the Impala – he chose to hang onto the belief that he'd been dreaming. With his lethargy lately, he was bound to have some fucked up dreams – maybe even gay ones. Better stop overdoing it, he thought, laughing out loud.

Dean changed into fresh jeans and a clean shirt, pulling on a tee displaying one of his favorite bands.

Before exiting his room, he stuck his head out into the hall to insure that the angel hadn't been near and eavesdropping on his personal reveries. The coast was clear – he sighed in relief before trudging down the long hallway and into the kitchen.

…

Sam was stationed at the counter in the kitchen – a book laid out in front of him titled The Mythology of Angels. He leafed through it absentmindedly; doubting he'd find anything new.

Cas was in the kitchen in front of him. Dishes clinked as the trench-coated man unloaded dishes from the dishwasher. Hearing footsteps approaching from the hallway, Sam looked up to see Dean enter through the doorway across the room. Dean glanced at the angel bent in front of him – Castiel seemed oblivious of his appearance – busy filling the machine with powdered soap.

Dean quickly moved across the tiled floor and opened the fridge, his face reflective and tinged a little pink.

"Morning," Sam offered with a smile.

"It's noon," Cas corrected as he slammed the door of the washer closed.

Dean remained silent, his ears now matched his cheeks with the redness having claimed them as well.

"What's your problem, Dean?" Sam asked.

Dean cleared his throat when Sam said his name, his eyes finally leaving the milk and locking with Sam's. "Oh, nothing, just tired." Sam rolled his eyes before he returned them to his reading.

"Is it customary for humans to sleep for fourteen hours and still feel tired? I thought you two were used to the four-hours-a-night regimen," Cas inquired in his mono-tonal voice. "Yet I practically had to carry you to your bed last night."

Dean closed the fridge at last, forgetting his appetite apparently, his face now full on beet red.

"No one asked you to, Cas" he growled before stalking out of the room.

Cas looked at Sam questioningly. Sam just shrugged and shook his head. "Your guess is as good as mine," he told him. Cas remained in the kitchen a moment longer before he left through a different doorway than Dean, no doubt off to inspect more of the bunker's artifacts and lore textbooks.

…

What the actual fuck, he thought. He'd totally just glanced at Cas' ass. It was just right there when he'd walked in, where else was he supposed to look? His eyes bored into the orange juice on the top shelf of the fridge, hoping Sammy hadn't seen him. He prayed the coldness of the fridge would cool his hot cheeks.

He was vaguely aware of Sam and Cas talking to each other but he focused on trying to force himself to take inventory of the fridge.

Sam's voice cut through his efforts: "What's your problem, Dean?" Dean glanced up at his brother – offered an excuse for his stressed state.

Cas spoke then, and Dean froze. "Is it customary for humans to sleep for fourteen hours and still be tired? I thought you two were used to the four-hours-a-night regimen. Yet I practically had to carry you to your room last night."

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, letting the door of the fridge swing closed as his hands clasped into fists at his sides. His face burned.

"No one asked you to, Cas" he spat out before getting the hell out of there. Once he was out the kitchen door and out of sight he wrenched his hands to his face. He had to clench his teeth to keep from groaning in embarrassment. It hadn't been a dream then. Wonderful. He practically stomped back to his room and shrugged into his jacket. He marched outside after stuffing his feet into his boots – ready to do some very manual labor. Preferably with a hammer.


	7. Start Me Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (The Rolling Stones) A familiar face turns up to the bunker, and the Winchester's don't remember extending an invitation...

**AUTHORS NOTE:**

**Before you read this I think I should remind you that I started this story back in February, a little after Cas killed Samandriel, before he returned and everything that followed happened. You're going to notice a lot of similarities between mine and the show's story line, and I'm kinda pissed that my story ended up being so close to the show's. Anyway, I' not trying to plagerize them or anything, and I hope you guys don't get super bored by what happens. Enjoy!**

When Dean shuffled back into the bunker, it was past ten and the sun had gone down at least an hour before he finally called it a day. He had sweat and dirt clogging his every pore and his damp shirt clung to him – giving him a chill from the cold air outside.

If he kept embarrassing himself in this fashion, he'd have the Impala back to her prime condition in no time at all.

Once in his room, he stripped down to his boxers and put on a clean t-shirt, too tired to shower. He returned to the scene of the event that sent him outside in the first place. He put a pan on to warm before he bent over the kitchen sink to wash some of the dirt from his new blisters, pleased that neither Sam nor Cas seemed to be around to give him any shit for his behavior.

He gave up on the tender bumps and moved to the fridge, taking out some eggs.

When Dean returned to his room with a hot plate full of scrambled eggs and toast, he was surprised to see Cas sitting at the card table, already having dealt the cards and placed his bet.

"You're big blind, Dean," the angel said without looking up at him, studying his cards.

Dean sighed before climbing onto his bed, "Not tonight, Cas, I'm beat." He laid backagainst his pillows and took a bite of eggs that burned his tongue.

Cas stood and came to stand next to the bed, his proximity making Dean's cheeks burn a little in memory of the day's (well, the last couple week's) events. "Dean, did I do something wrong?" Cas reached over to grasp Dean's left shoulder with one hand and turned his piercing eyes on him.

His proximity and the intensity of his gaze sent the witty remark Dean had been about to make from his mind, and he was once again frustrated to be rendered speechless by the man's stare. The angel was waiting for an answer, his eyes starting to narrow as Dean remained silent. He scrambled to come up with an appropriate response.

"I honestly don't know what's been up with me lately," he responded at last. Good enough, he thought, though even he was a bit surprised by the truthfulness of the statement.

"If you say so, Dean," Cas said. He narrowed his eyes at him for a moment more before he withdrew his hand from Dean's shoulder and returned to the seat across from Dean. The touch created a vague recollection of when Castiel's hand had been permanently etched into his skin, in the same place the angel had chosen to hold a moment ago. He couldn't explain the feeling, but he felt almost nostalgic for the marking and the possessiveness and protection it had represented.

"Just one game," the angel insisted, picking up his cards, "Sam said I have a 'tell' and I've got to learn how to hide it," he used his fingers to put air quotes around the word and Dean smirked, marveling that he'd finally learned to use the gesture correctly.

"The one where you clench your teeth?" Dean guessed.

"I clench my teeth?!" Cas asked incredulously – sending a round of chuckles through Dean.

After the laughter had run its course, Dean shoveled a mouthful of eggs into his mouth and scooted forward towards the end of the bed, resigning to his friend's wishes, like he knew that he would.

…

"Heya, Sam," the dark-haired female at the door drawled.

"Meg?" He replied in disbelief, surprise apparent in his voice, making his statement sound more like a question.

"Well, you're a regular Ace Ventura. Now would you mind showin' me where you keep the dude with the feathers?"

"Who? Cas? How did you find us, Meg?" The questions tumbled out.

"I called her," Cas answered for the demon, making Sam jump when his voice materialized behind him.

"You have Meg's number?" Sam interrogated with skepticism.

"Obviously," the demon cut in. "Now are you going to tell me what this is about or do I have to guess?"

Sam removed the demon blade from the back of his pants, letting Meg's eyes get a hold of it before he held it tightly to his side. He gestured for her to walk down the hallway and followed close behind.

Upon rounding the corner, Dean jumped up from the table where he had finally started to help out with some of the research.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded, grabbing the nearest stash of holy water from under a cabinet.

"I'm just as in the dark as you are, Mr. Paranoid." She ignored the knife in Sam's hand and Dean's holy water before settling into a seat at the long table and dropping her feet onto the surface with little ceremony. "Cas, I think it would be best if you'd just let us in on the big, friggin' secret."

All the eyes in the room turned to look at the only one who seemed to know what was going on. Dean reluctantly returned to his seat and Sam followed his example, keeping a grip on the knife.

"I called Meg because I thought we could benefit from her help. We still have no idea why my powers are dwindling or where I was for the time that I seem to have forgotten." He paused for a moment before continuing his explanation: "Therefore it couldn't hurt for Meg to be listening amongst the demons for anything that might help us. We still don't know whether or not they were or are involved."

The words following were a jumbled mess, as everyone tried to speak at once:

"Cas, we don't need her help!"

"We can't trust her."

"So angel-boy's got more drama."

Once silence had returned, Meg spoke again, "Why would I want to help you? What's in it for me?"

"Why not? I'm open to negotiation, what is it you want?" Cas said.

"Wait a minute, Cas, this is so nota good idea," Dean interjected. Cas drew his gaze from the demon to him, his features showing no signs of agreement and a little bit of impatience.

"He may have a point, Dean," Sam spoke up. "If you think about it, we've got nothing to go on, right now. What could it hurt? Plus I think I might pull my hair out if I have to read one more theory about angelic powers."

"I don't even want to let her leave, now that she knows where we are. We either have to exorcise her or move," his brother said with a scowl, his mood no doubt darkening at the prospect of having to leave his new room.

"Wait a minute, I'm not saying I'll do anything, but if the price is right, you'll bet I'll forget I ever saw this place." The demon smiled, considering the options.

"What do you want?" Sam asked, ignoring Dean's interjection.

The demon took her feet off the table, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the table, and took her time answering. After a few moments, her eyes widened and smile crawled across her face as she named her price: "I want to know how to build demon bombs."

The arguments had gone on for awhile, most of which involving trying to stop Dean abhorring the prospect of working with the demon who had never been exactly trustworthy in his opinion, the one who sicked hell's guard dogs on him at one point. Eventually, they had come to an agreement. Meg wanted the bombs to keep Crowley's goons at bay, as he still hadn't forgiven her for one too many traitorous acts. How could they deny her the recipe, they'd be gaining an extra pair of ears and she'd be killing demons.

Once they'd given her the list, they walked her to the door.

Sam handed her a slip of paper with his phone number, "How bout you call next time, wouldn't be very helpful for you to show up here being followed." The demon shoved the note in her pocket with the recipe.

"If you say so, skyscraper." She stepped out onto the stoop before spinning back around to face them. "Oh yeah, there's one thing before I go." Sam tensed as she reached past him to get a hold of Cas' tie, yanking him towards her by the silky fabric. "One for the road, Clarence?" She asked without waiting for a response. She tugged him again, closing the short distance that now stood between them, her lips meeting his without hesitation while Sam took an awkward step back, bumping shoulders with Dean.


	8. Bliss (I Don't Wanna Know)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Hinder) Dean has a sudden realization.

Warning signals went off in his head as her fingers gripped the blue silk; blood pounded in his ears and red filtered the edges of his vision. His fingers curled to make fists and the fingernails dug hard into his palms.

As her small frame tugged the angel off the stoop to stand on the hard ground directly in front of her, he could feel the skin of his palm break against his pressing nails, and he knew if he looked he'd find blood.

As soon as Dean's eyes took in the image of Meg's lips greedily pushing to Cas' and his ears registered the loud smack of her lips, he flung his eyes to the ground and used all of his willpower to keep himself from tearing her apart right then and there.

Beneath the rolling waves of hatred and anger, he also felt something else; a deep burning in the pit of his stomach. He realized he felt... well, for lack of a better word, hurt. The feeling expanded from his stomach and crawled up into his chest. The internal, emotional pain chafed against him, worse than physical pain; he pushed it down by filling his head with vivid, varied scenarios of the many ways he could kill Meg as soon as he got the chance.

He'd been devising which orifice to pour salt into first when Meg released the man, only a few moments having passed. All three of the men watched her strut down the road before Cas turned around to face the Winchesters. He glanced at Dean first, and Dean scrambled to hide the tortured expression on his face. Once his face settled into general disgust (it was the best he could manage), a pained look lit up Castiel's eyes.

"She sure is friendly," Dean pushed through his teeth, breaking the silence before disappearing through the doorway behind him. He threw another comment over his shoulder: "Maybe you'll get laid, after all." His own words cut through him like razors and he couldn't hide the pain on his face anymore. With his companions outside, still on the stoop, he barricaded himself in his room, his back pressed against the closed door. He stood like that for a few minutes, his eyes pinched shut and his body rigid. He listened for an approach of footsteps. Hearing none, he locked the door and collapsed face down on the bed, his face buried in his hands.

The groan that emanated from his chest wasn't exactly quiet, yet he thankfully still heard no approach of worried footsteps.

_I dig Cas,_ he thought. He'd almost said it out loud, but stopped himself just in time. Even so, he tried to think it as quietly as possible. If Cas could see through his cards, who knows if he could really hear his thoughts or not? Even in his head, the thought didn't sit well. Years of womanizing and a life full of yearning for females didn't exactly agree with this sudden ideology.

He rolled over, lacing his fingers behind his head, deciding to sort through his thoughts.

A part of him had always known he'd had feelings for Cas, he now knew, full, more-than-friends feelings, and the sudden realization made his breath come short. It was so blatantly obvious. But another part of him, the bigger part, was freaking out in a totally non-positive way. What would Sammy think? What would  _everyone_ think? Then an even more uncomfortable question entered his mind: What would  _Cas_ think?

That thought released the flood gate – and the sheer pain of it knocked the air out of him.

The self-loathing that hit him could rival anyone's. How could he have thought for a minute, a  _second,_ that Cas would be into him. Castiel was an angel,  _a celestial fucking being,_ and Dean… was just Dean.

Scratch that. He wasn't just an ordinary guy, he was a  _bad_ guy, at that. He'd tortured souls both in hell and topside, and on top of that (as if that wasn't enough), he'd been a sex-crazed, thieving, liar all his life. He didn't  _anyone,_ let alone Cas.

Sitting up, smoothing his hair down with his hands, he made his decision. Obviously he had feelings for Cas. What else was just as obvious? He would never tell him.

Dean heaved himself up and headed for the kitchen, vowing to get drunk. Shouldn't be too difficult, he hadn't had a drink since he'd crashed. Five months of sobriety should be enough to ensure that a couple fifths would drown out his fucked up feelings.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

**Sorry it's so short, didn't have whole lot of time today, plus I wanted this section to kind of be on it's own without any other events. Like it? Leave me a review and I'll try to write another chapter as soon as I can, and hopefully a longer one. Thanks for reading, guys!**


	9. Nails For Breakfast, Tacks For Snacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Panic! At the Disco) Dean's a bit unsure about what to do about his feelings for Cas. Of course he turns to alcohol.

Dean was hammered, Sam could tell that much. He felt like it'd been years since he'd actually seen Dean this drunk, years of building up a tolerance had left him damn close of being incapable.

Sam was sitting at the table, reading a book for pleasure instead of researching for once, when Dean had barged in and offered him a slug of the whiskey. On his way to the table, he'd managed to bump into two different chairs and knock over a lamp. The sound of the crash brought Castiel in from outside and they both watched, wary, as Dean struggled to stay upright.

"No, Cas, s'not good for you to be 'n here," he slurred, plopping himself down into the chair next to Sam. Sam leaned away from him to avoid being drenched with the alcohol Dean had started to spill. Cas stayed where he was on the other side of the room, he looked angry, and his eyes didn't seem to leave Dean's face.

"Dean, stop. You're wasted," Sam warned.

"Never said I 'snt, Sammy," Dean said as he took another swig, getting less in his mouth than on his shirt.

"There a reason you felt the sudden urge to drown your liver?" Sam asked. He'd been kind of thankful for Dean's accident, in a way. It'd kept Dean from drinking from as soon as he got up until he fell into bed every night as he had been doing before. He tried not to think of those months before too much though, Sam hadn't been living with his brother then, he'd been living with a sweaty, ornery idiot.

"S'none of your bus'ness, Sammy," Dean answered with a grin. "S'no one's bus'ness but mine. I ain't never tellin' no one."

Sam rolled his eyes. Drunk Dean was pretty funny but he didn't have much patience for him under the circumstances.

Dean was quiet a moment, looking off into space, a blank look covering his face. He flinched before giving his head a shake – his gaze traced over Cas then over Sam beside him. "I love you guys. Like really, I really do."

Sam couldn't help it then, he let out a chuckle. "We know, Dean. How much did you drink, anyway?" he said, eyeing the half-full fifth in his grasp.

"This s'it," he answered, holding the bottle up. "Don't know what 've done to alc'hol these days..." his voice trailed off and he laughed with Sam.

Cas broke his silence then, and he did not laugh with them.

"Dean, you're being ridiculous," he sounded pissed, "you remember what happened last time you drank?" He raised his eyebrows, a dangerous look glinting in his eyes.

"Course I 'member. You came back," Dean looked up at him, with some effort, smirked. "At least you're back, now."

Cas' face went neutral for a minute, then pained, then back to angry; his eyes narrowed, the line of his mouth straight.

"You almost died, Dean, and I barely was able to heal you enough for you to merely leave the hospital. I'd appreciate it if you didn't re-break your fragile body," he was beginning to spit the words. "I may not be as lucky next time." The angel's eyes never left the form slumped over the table and they actually pinched shut when Dean said his next words:

"What d'you care 'nyway? Haven't you learn'd your lesson, yet?" He started chuckling. The words bothered Sam enough, let alone the fact that Dean was trying to make them sound joking. He frowned at his brother, wondering if the recent happiness since Cas' return had been faked.

Sam could see Cas turning the words over in his head, when they clicked together he threw up his hands and left the room, calling Dean a "child" and cursing his "mortal insecurities."

He decided he'd seen enough. He snatched the bottle out of Dean's hands, and he was surprised to see that he didn't put up a fight.

Dean saw his surprise and smirked at him, "Doesn't matter. 'm drunk already." Hiccuping into his hand, he stood up on shaky legs and returned to his room, where Sam could hear the springs of his bed protest as Dean slumped on top of it.

Sam went to the kitchen to grab a bowl. Dean would be pissed if he let him throw up all over his room.

…

Judging by the painful pulsing in between his ears and the stench of stale booze, maybe getting drunk had been a bit of a rash decision. He sat up on the bed, relieved to not be covered in his own vomit.

He made his slow and very shaky way to the kitchen for Advil and coffee. As he was pouring himself a mug, both Sam and Cas entered the room. Cas stared at him then made a hasty exit, the same way he came.

"What's eating him?" Dean asked his brother. "Did he realize The Beatles broke up?" He winked.

He watched Sam pour himself some cereal and glared at him when the clanging dishes reverberated inside his skull.

"It might be because you guys had a little fight yesterday, fueled by your choice of beverage."

"Well, what about?"

"Ask him," Sam shrugged, shoving a spoonful of cheerios in his mouth and leaving the room.

"What are your panties all twisted up for, man?" Dean ventured. He'd found the angel in the room he'd sort of adopted as his own; there was a bed that he didn't sleep in and books opened, scattered everywhere.

Cas was sitting on the bed, he looked up from the picture of the horse he'd been looking at and scowled at Dean. He rolled his eyes then returned them to the picture. Cas looked.. well if he was honest with himself, as he seemed to be doing lately, he looked adorable. Annoyed Cas, with his scrunched up nose and eyes, his mouth in pout, was one of the cutest things Dean had ever seen. He had a hard time keeping the smile off his face as he watched the angel, waiting for him to explain.

"I've had enough of your tendency to throw your fragile, little human life around like it's not valuable, likes it's fully and solely your choice." He flipped the page and started to study another picture.

Dean still wasn't sure what his drinking had to do with this, but he could feel his pulse quicken and his anger mount. "Excuse me? What I do with my life is no one's choice but mine."

"Well at least stop acting like you're the only one who cares about it. Do you honestly not remember what Sam did the last time you ceased to live? Remember how you both kick-started the apocalypse?" He slammed the book closed in front of him, "You think I hang out on Earth for my own benefit? You think I'd be here if it wasn't for you Winchesters?" He folded his arms angrily.

He had a point of course, but Dean still didn't know what had brought all of this up. "Why are you yelling at me about this right now? We've got other stuff to worry about." Dean kept his voice lower, his ears still throbbed a little.

"The last time you drank, I had to deal with your broken body. I already had this conversation with you last night, but clearly it did no good as you don't even remember."

Dean felt defensive, and his face heated a little. He was ready to argue with the angel, tell him he didn't have to hang around if it was such a burden to him. He thought better of it though, he knew he'd regret it if Cas decided to do just that. Cas was right too, of course, about Sam and how irresponsible he was being. Despite all those thoughts, the majority of his mind was wondering what else he might have said the day before and promptly forgot. Definitely a bad idea to drink with all the crap filling his head.

"You're right, Cas. I'll keep that in mind," he consoled the man, finding it surprisingly easy to let him win the argument.

The lines in Cas' forehead flattened out in amazement.

"Er... well, good." Dean smiled, pleased to have left the angel ultimately speechless. He started to leave when Cas stopped him:

"Hey, Dean?"


	10. Clocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Coldplay) Seems Castiel didn't spend his missing months alone.

Dean turned back to face the angel, a smile lighting his face, ready to gloat.

"I..." Castiel began.  _Rendered speechless, again,_ Dean thought. But his amusement quickly turned to panic when the angel's eyes grew wide and he let the book he'd been holding tumble off of the bed and onto the floor.

"Cas? You okay?" he asked hastily.

"Dean," was all Castiel stated in response and his face contorted into what Dean could only name as intense pain. Cas' body jerked up off the bed to stand next to it. "It's time." It was Cas' voice and his lips moving, but Dean felt an off sensation telling him that they  _were not_ Cas' words. Cas' eyes were wide and startled, still. His eyebrows were as high on his forehead as they would go – pulling together in the middle.

"Sam!" Dean yelled. He heard something crash in the main room, hurried footsteps clambered on the tile.

Dean took a step towards Cas, not quite knowing what to do, how to help him. It was painful seeing him this way, a tortured look in his scared eyes.

When Dean took his step forward, the angel took a feverish one backwards. Wherever Cas' skin was visible, the back of his clenched fists, his forehead, veins were popping out in exertion. Dean saw the muscles in Cas' face contract, and a drop of blood rolled down his cheek, staining it with a dark, red line, beginning at his eye and disappearing under the collar of his coat. He'd seen it before, the last time he'd seen Cas before he had disappeared. He was suddenly overcome with fear, hoping the pattern wouldn't repeat itself.

"Cas! What's happening?" He demanded as Sam appeared in the doorway.

"What? What's wrong?"

"I'm.. I don't know but I know it's not good," Dean tried to explain.

"Everything's fine, Sam. Could you go get me the demon blade?" Cas' voice sounded eerily calm, dripping civility.

"What for, Cas?" Sam looked as confused as Dean felt.

"I'll explain in a moment. Just get it for me please." The expression on his face did  _not_ match the words escaping his mouth. He looked terrified and it made the hairs on the back of Dean's neck stand up straight.

Sam reluctantly turned to hustle down the hallway towards the door outside, Dean wished he'd parked the Impala closer to the bunker. He put his hands up, palms facing Cas.

"What. Is. Going. On?" He demanded again, trying to look as far from from threatening as possible, hoping to avoid scaring the angel back even farther away from him.

"Dean, it's about time we take care of you. Hopefully this time for good." The use of a plural pronoun did not escape Dean's attention, and he was now  _sure_ Cas was not completely in control of himself. Still, it was hard for him to piece together the statement. The words made sense enough, but they felt foreign and jumbled coming from Cas' mouth. Meanwhile Cas' eyes were darting back and forth between Dean and his own outstretched hands, his panic apparent.

He was coming to the conclusion that it'd be best to get Sam's ass back in here pronto when Cas crossed the room in a flash, pinning him to the wall a foot in the air, his fingers enclosing his throat in a tight grip, effectively silencing him and deterring that agenda.

Despite the angel's threatening words and behavior, Dean was still haunted by the look in his eyes. They were the only thing that still seemed like Cas. As he tried to look Cas in the eyes, he could see the darkness creeping into the corners of his own vision, his throat produced some gurgling sounds as it searched for any available oxygen.

Cas' grip loosened by a tiny fraction, Dean could see he was fighting whatever it was with all he had while fresh red tears streaked the angel's face and it was enough for Dean to try and speak. His words came out as a croak, the rough hands pressing against his windpipe.

"Cas. Cas, please." He didn't know what to say. He hoped Cas was able to hear him, even if he was buried deep.

"We're going to make sure  _this_ time. You won't get to return to mortality. There's only one place you're going and it surely isn't heaven."

His mono-tonal voice sent chills reverberating up and down Dean's back. In any other circumstances, Dean would smother his fear, push back the memories of the sweltering, horrifying place that he had spent most his life suffering through, but the threat seemed too real, too close with powerful hands holding his fate. Hands that he refused to damage as they belonged to someone he could never hurt.

"Don't do this, Cas. I know you. I... you mean more to me than you know." Now his vision had gone completely black, there was echoing in his ears – maybe Sam's footfalls returning? He kept talking, not much time left, "I love you and you are  _mine._ Not the demons', or the angels', or whoever it is who's controlling you right now.  _Mine,_  you hear me? I swear to  _your fucking dad,_ if you let them kill me, I'm gonna find a way to kick _your_ _ass..._ " That's as far as he got before he felt his consciousness slip away.

Deep down in the darkness, he heard a sickening tearing sound. He realized it must be his body being torn apart, and he was vaguely surprised to feel no pain. His last thought was a prayer, begging the universe or God or whoever was listening that Sammy hadn't just watched him get torn to pieces, and that Cas wouldn't blame himself for his death.

 


	11. Seven Nation Army

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (The White Stripes) Cas does something a little unexpected in order to protect Dean.

Sam ran down the hall, the demon blade clutched tightly in his hand. As he approached the doorway to Dean's room, knots and pin pricks started afflicting him in the pit of his stomach. He knew he wasn't going to like what he saw when he turned the corner, and as he got closer and closer he could make out words being spoken, whispered almost, but they weren't loud enough for them to have any meaning.

He reached the doorway and he braced himself before turning the corner, spinning the blade to hold it in an offensive position. He slowly absorbed the image of his brother, now rendered silent, pressed against the wall, his face an alarming blue color. Cas' hands were the ones holding him there, choking the life out of him. Dean's hands gripped the angel's tightly and Sam clung to the only sign that Dean was still alive. He wanted to do something; his body wouldn't obey his mind's sharp protests.  _Move, kill Cas, DO SOMETHING._  What could he do? A demon blade wouldn't have any effect on the angel. He realized he could make an angel-banishing sigil, but instead of doing as his mind begged, the surprise and ridiculousness of the situation only allowed his mouth to simply open to utter one choked word: "Dean."

Stuck in his bodily prison, Sam could only watch, and his eyes found their way to Cas' face, the strain of his visible muscles, the blood collecting on his cheeks. His whole body was shaking in exertion, the knuckles of his hands were white as bone and he heard a few cracks as they re-positioned themselves on Dean's throat. Dean's hands, now that he was fully unconscious, slipped off of the angel's and dangled at his sides.

He couldn't understand what was happening, how Castiel could be doing this.  _To Dean._ Sam's knees gave out, and he landed hard on them, the knife fell from his hands to clatter to the floor. He looked up at Cas again and this time his mouth conformed to his thoughts more completely. Sam began shouting. No words or phrases, just yelling, objecting Cas' actions in the only way he was capable. In amazement, he watched as one of Cas' hands retracted from its stronghold to move to Cas' chest. It was shaking violently, and Sam could hear a rolling, rumbling noise over his screaming.

He stopped yelling when the ripping sound began, and he was tempted to close his eyes, afraid of what was making the sound, afraid that Dean's body would be producing it. But he forced them to stay open, aimed at the catastrophe before him, vowing to watch Dean's last moments even if they horrified him.

As the ripping sound grew louder, Dean was bathed in a bright light, reflecting on him off of Cas.

"CLOSE YOUR EYES!" The angel commanded. He yelled it at the top of his lungs, yet it was still hard to make out over the sharp tearing sound. Sam wrenched his eyes shut, amazed that he was listening to the man who probably just killed his brother. Through his lids, the light intensified, as was obvious from the red glow that occupied his vision instead of blackness. The light got so bright that Sam had to push his hands over them as well. The disturbing sound kept growing louder as the light grew brighter until it cut off all at once, and Sam was thrown back against the hallway wall. His head cracked hard against the wood. He didn't wait for Cas to give him permission, his eyes shot open to see what had happened.

The trench-coated figure was crumpled on the floor, a scary, open wound in his chest. There was a frightening amount of blood surrounding the angel, yet Sam went straight to Dean, who had his back against the wall. A smile quickly took up Sam's face when he realized Dean's eyes were open, blinking rapidly. He gave his head a shake then looked up at Sam.

"Would you shut up a minute? Jesus," Dean said, wiping his hands over his face and scrunching his cheeks a little. Before Sam could respond, Dean noticed the body now still on the hard floor. He pushed Sam out of his way, Sam had to try and keep from falling over, and he watched Dean bend over the angel. His hands flitted helplessly over his body. "What the fuck happened, Sammy?" He searched Sam's face in a panic, his eyes wide and fearful. "What can I do?" He turned back to the angel, slid one hand under his neck and rested the other on Cas' cheek. Sam was in awe, he had no idea what had just occurred and how Cas received his wound. The only thing that could have hurt him was an angel blade and there wasn't exactly one lying around anywhere.

"Sammy! Shut up and help me!" Dean yelled, moving his hand from Cas' cheek to put pressure on the wound, staunching the blood flow. "God, don't let him die now. Don't let him fucking die."

"Dean, I'm not saying  _anything_ ," Sam answered at last, a little worried about his brother's sanity. Despite his disapproval of the man who just tried to kill his brother, he stooped down next to Cas across from Dean to get a closer look as per Dean's wishes.

As Dean pressed his hand more firmly to Cas' chest as tears began rolling down his cheeks, they both went silent as they watched the blood surrounding the wound disappear, observed as the hole in Cas' chest vanished. Dean locked confused eyes with Sam for a split second before he heard a gasping breath come from the man in front of him, and they both snapped their heads to look at the angel now clutching his chest before them, his breathing heavy as he coughed hard.

Dean stood and moved behind Cas' head to push him into a sitting position, Cas leaning against his legs. "What the hell just happened, Cas?" Dean questioned once the angel's breathing had returned to a relatively normal rhythm. Cas took a long look at Sam before answering the Winchester behind him.

"I had to figure out a way to sever the connection between Naomi and myself. Guess it worked," Castiel smiled and chuckled to himself. "But more importantly," he began, pushing his head back to look Dean in the face, "how does it feel to be a celestial being?"

 


	12. Yellow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Coldplay) Dean notices a few changes.

What. The. Fuck. That's the first thought that rebounded through his mind when he first opened his eyes. As soon as he woke up he had to almost work to stay in his body, which didn't make sense at all. He felt... well, he didn't know how he felt. Different for one thing. "Felt" wasn't even really the right word, anyway. He just was. He quickly contemplated whether or not he was dead. He discarded that theory, he'd been in heaven, hell, he'd even been a spirit before, and he never experienced this. His body didn't seem like his own. Like his soul was bursting at the seams of his body and his fragile flesh and bones could rip apart at any minute, almost like he didn't fit. His mind alone seemed endless, capable of contemplating everything from Newton's Theory of Relativity to Quantum Physics, all at the same time.

It took about four seconds for his mind to work through it. He was an angel.

Once he thought it, he realized that it was obvious, that there was no other remotely possible explanation. He should have realized it sooner, with the enormous weight settled upon his shoulders. But it's not like the weight was a physical one, he didn't think there was anything that his body couldn't shoulder in it's current state, but more like a heavy figment produced by his mind that felt more like him than his body did. He glanced back to confirm, to take in the feathery forms that he'd never laid eyes on before. His eyes hadn't seen them, but they evoked a sort of familiarity that puzzled him. The real mystery, of course, though, was how exactly he was put in this state.

Beyond that, there was an insane amount of noise coming from every direction; voices, banging, car horns, birds chirping...

"Would you shut up a minute? Jesus," he said to Sam, hoping to silence some of excessive noise, hoping to be able to focus on something other than the ringing in his ears. He forced his thoughts to center on the present, the room in front of him. That's when the body on the floor flooded his vision, the vibrant blood that surrounded it stuck out and caught his eye, keeping him from glancing away. The realization wasn't slow and he still felt the guilt settle into his chest as he finally processed who was on the floor, completely still. He knew he was dead without having to check for a pulse. Still, before he'd even made a conscious decision to do so, his body had moved to kneel over Castiel and he searched his brain for something, anything he could do to take back his death, while his eyes raked over him, taking in every detail. "What the fuck happened, Sammy?" He had to tear his eyes away from Cas to search Sam's face for an explanation. What the hell could have happened while he was unconscious? Who did it? And where the fuck were they? He'd make sure they didn't get very far. That could wait of course, how could he leave Cas like this on the floor? How could he accept that his angel was now as cold as the ground he collapsed upon. "What can I do?" He bent towards Cas again, supported his head and touched his cheek, so far from worrying about whether or not Sam noticed. The noise swelled up again in his ears as his helplessness and anger mounted, almost painful from the sheer volume.

He took his hand from behind Cas' neck to rub his forehead, kneading his temples. "Sammy! Shut up and help me!" he yelled once more, moving his hand from Cas' cheek to put pressure on the wound, trying anything, trying to stop the blood flow that he knew was no longer flowing. The lack of life didn't stop the words from bubbling up in his mouth, "God, don't let him die now. Don't let him fucking die."

"Dean, I'm not saying anything," Sam finally used his voice. Dean saw him kneel down on the other side of Cas from his peripheral vision.

Dean found himself praying, his thoughts an endless string of begging and groveling, promising anything he could think of to anyone who would listen. As the hot tears rolled down his cheeks, a thought occurred to him and he held on, pinning his every hope to it. He moved his hand, pushing it a little harder to Cas' chest, and focused what he could only describe as a current running through him on where his hand touched his chest. He watched in amazement as the vibrant blood found its way back into Cas' body, while the wound underneath his hand closed. Dean glanced at Sam to see his reaction before the life now present in the body before him grabbed his attention. Cas' hands moved to clutch his chest, and Dean wiped his face, rubbing the salty tears onto his jeans as he stood up, relief flooding to his core.

He moved behind Castiel, putting his hands under his arms to pull him up until he was sitting. He reveled in the sound of his pulse, present and strong, aching to wrap the man in his arms and let everything sink in. He resisted, stilling himself instead by supporting Cas' back against his legs.

He waited for as long as he could, letting Cas catch his breath, "What the hell just happened, Cas?" He was silent for a moment before he answered him, "I had to figure out a way to sever the connection between Naomi and myself. Guess it worked," the man actually chuckled to himself before sobering up and leaning back against Dean and turning his face up to look at him, "but more importantly, how does it feel to be a celestial being?"

"You're an angel of the Lord, Dean," Cas repeated when no one broke the silence. He climbed to his feet on shaky legs with Dean's help and turned around to face him.

Dean wasn't surprised, obviously, but the words being spoken out loud made the... the power radiating through him swell up in response. He looked at Sam to see his astonishment, and Sam shrugged with a what-the-hell look on his face. Dean offered a shrug.

"Are you telling us that you... found a way to make Dean an angel?" Sam asked incredulously for them both.

"That's exactly what I'm saying," Cas answered, throwing a quick glance Sam's way. "But before I explain," Cas began; he took a step to bring himself closer to Dean, placing a hand on his shoulder. When Cas touched him, intense warmth and a shock not unlike static electricity passed through his muscle and he flinched at the unexpected feeling. Cas' eyes darkened a little, seeing his reaction, and he removed his arm to let it hand once again at his side. Dean wanted to explain himself but he sensed now was not the time. Cas finished his thought: "I can't tell you how sorry I am. I tried, I really did. I- I wasn't strong enough to keep them from hurting you. And I wasn't sure if you were still alive, I should have thought of something else, put my grace somewhere else. I would've asked permission if I could. We'll find a way to undo it, we could contact an angel-" Cas had begun to ramble, a little hysterically at that, so Dean cut him off:

"Cas. What else were you supposed to do? I'm sure you did what was best." He'd been following Cas' fast ramblings as best he could, worked through what he knew, and he was confident that did the best that he could. "And clearly you were strong enough to stop them, whoever 'them' is."

"But strong enough to do what exactly?" Sam inquired. "What did you do?"

Cas backed up to sit on the bed, shoulder's slumped. "Well, I now know where I was during my brief sabbatical, for one thing. I don't have very much conscious memory of what happened, but an angel named Naomi... messed with my hardware, as you two might say." He bowed his head to look at the comforter of the bed and started fiddling with a loose thread. "Whatever she did, relinquished full control of my body, resulting in the recent turn of events." He made eye contact with each Winchester before returning his gaze to the bed again. "It occurred to me that if I didn't do something drastic, Dean would die," he frowned deeply, " and I simply couldn't let that happen." He looked up at Dean again, and something in his eyes made a very human longing rumble through Dean's chest. Dean desperately wanted to know if the angel had been able to hear his words while he was being controlled, but Sam's was very present next to him and he wasn't sure if he could ask anyway. Cas was still speaking, "It was innately painful to do so, but I ripped out my grace to break the connection she had on me."

"And you thought the best place for it would be in Dean?" Sam followed.

"I was fairly certain Dean would survive the process. And I couldn't leave it lying around for Naomi to get her hands on it after it killed me."

"Wait a minute, Cas. Hold up. Are you human? You knew I would heal you, right?" Dean prodded. He was already angry at the thought of Cas killing himself for his own sake.

"Yes, I knew it would kill me. I am human. And the thought hadn't occurred to me," Castiel talked slowly to ensure the information was absorbed.

"So you thought you'd simply sacrifice yourself for me? You think I would be okay with that?" Dean was seething now, yelling.

"You may want to learn to control your anger, Dean. You've got a lot of power and you'll need to maintain control of it," Cas warned, ignoring his questions.

"Slow down, now," Sam said. "Let me see if I've got this straight. Dean is an angel, you are not an angel, and Dean just healed you..."

"That is correct."

"Well how come the angel, this Naomi, didn't just have control of Dean if she was tied to your grace?" Dean hadn't even thought of that, and he tried to search his mind for any impending hostile takeover.

"Dean's been human all his life. Angel's don't have free will in the same sense as angels. Your free will is what defines you. Obviously she's not going to be able to overcome that," Castiel explained,still pulling on the loose thread.

"So, you gonna tell me how to turn off the voices?" Dean asked, pointing to his temple. They made it difficult to focus on what everyone was saying.

"You'll learn to ignore them," Cas promised, "but you know you don't have to go along with this, right Dean?"

Dean still had a bit of heat sitting in his chest, so his words came out through his teeth though he was trying to stay calm: "What do you mean, Castiel," the consonants sharp and the vowels quiet.

Dean's tone had Cas rushing to explain, "Like I said before, we'll figure it out. I don't expect you to live with my mistake. I realize how unprecedented this must be for you, how uncomfortable. We'll find an angel to help us, to remove the grace, to keep Naomi from doing this in the future." His eyes were off his hands, at last, moving back and forth across Dean's features, taking in his every expression.

The earnestness in Cas' face and voice was enough to cool him down, and Dean shifted from angry to comforting, "Hey, don't worry so much, Cas. We've got time. We'll figure it out." He grabbed his shoulder, kneading the tense muscle a little. Cas' eyes grew a little wide from the contact, he stared at Dean's hand. Suddenly uncomfortable, Dean pulled it back, rejection overtaking him.

AUTHOR's NOTE

Sorry it took so long, I must've rewritten this section five times. Anyway, let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!


	13. Fear of the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Iron Maiden)

The initial shock of the situation was a lot to take in. For everyone.

Not sleeping, not even feeling the need to sleep… He couldn't even remember a time when he hadn't had to consume endless cups of caffeine to keep sleep at arm's length in order to be able to function.

Food wasn't the same, either. It still smelled good, but the taste was nothing like it used to be, a mere fraction of the spices and sweetness registering on his tongue.

But the weirdest part, the part that he couldn't get used to, was how  _nothing felt the same._ The pads of his fingers as he traced the side of an ice cube; it barely felt cold. When he'd tested his hand over a flame, the heat had been minimal, and the skin didn't redden or pucker like it should have. The only way he could explain it to Sam was to equate it to being in a sort of suit that made some of your senses stronger and some of them weaker, a suit that was constantly trying to expel him. He had to concentrate consistently so he wouldn't leave his body. Sam had started referring to him as "The Boy in the Plastic Bubble."

He also found that he had  _way_ too much time on his hands, being able to accomplish most things was a lot simpler when you had almost infinite power and didn't have to spend time sleeping or eating. Or even bathing for that matter. The Impala had never looked better. At night though, when both Sam and Cas were asleep (Cas sleeping was definitely different) he was left with absolutely nothing to distract himself with. That's about when the self-loathing would set in. Despite the differences in his various forms in feeling, he was still very capable of experiencing emotions. Even Cas had to admit he was surprised about that one.

Without alcohol to turn to in the same way he might have been able to once, he chose to sate himself by watching Cas sleep. Dean felt like the newly-human man was avoiding him. He'd exit a room when Dean entered if possible and didn't make much eye contact. Dean tried to ignore it but it was hard with his emotions betraying him every chance they got. It was so much harder to plaster on a smile and pretend he didn't notice.

He knew it was creepy to watch him, hell, he'd said so himself whenever he'd woken to find Cas doing the same thing. But something about the innocence on Cas' face as he slept, plus the bright (human) soul that shone through at the right vantage point did something to calm him in a way that no intoxicants could.

He always slept on his side, somewhat cramped in the twin bed that had already been in his room. He'd murmur in his sleep every once in awhile, but Dean could never make out what exactly he was saying. Dean knew if he moved closer to place a finger to the man's forehead, then he'd be able to have an inside look into his thoughts, and he was tempted to do so, but he couldn't justify watching him sleep, let alone invading his privacy any further.

As an angel, Cas had been attractive. He'd been innocent, clueless, and downright adorable, capable of tying Dean's usually quick tongue into knots. But now that he was human, and now that Dean's emotions were amplified by his holy state, he had a hard time keeping his hands off of him.

When Cas had looked up at him through his lashes in shame after he'd burned his toast, Dean had had to excuse himself from the room to hide the fact that a prized extremity was trying to show its appreciation for Cas' sweet expression. He was beginning to think Sam suspected something whenever he had to leave the room and rub one out (which was another thing that did not feel  _nearly_  the same now that he was an angel - he was gonna have to demand a refund very soon).

As Cas adjusted to a mortal life, omeone else might be annoyed by Cas' constant questions pertaining to everything it was to be human, but for the most part, Dean just found it unbelievably entertaining.

For the first five days or so, Cas had worn his trademark suit, tie, and trench coat and the concept of a shower was foreign to him. Sam and Dean had opted to step in at that point, unable to take the smell anymore. Dean had offered Cas some of his own clothes (Sam's would never fit) but the man had declined, saying something about them being "Dean's personal belongings." Dean could admit to himself that he would've been pleased to see Cas sporting one of his t-shirts or flannels, but he shut up after that, a little hurt by Cas' quick refusal, promising to take him shopping for his own stuff. They'd been able to find him some basic clothes; undershirts, boxers, jeans, but Dean had had to draw the line when Cas had voiced his admiration for some polo shirts: "Cas, there is no way I'm buying you some of that douche bag camouflage." They'd compromised on some neat button-downs (they weren't plaid but they'd do for now).

…

Dean found a chair in a room near Cas' and carried it in without making a sound. He set it a couple yards away from the bed and settled in. He marveled again at how the years that weighed down and pulled at Cas' face while he was conscious all just sort of fell away whenever he crashed. Still, it didn't keep his eyebrows from scrunching up in consternation, just beckoning Dean to take a finger and gently smooth them out.

So far, he'd been able to control himself, but it seemed to be getting harder. His hands grasped the arms of the chair, making the wood splinter a little. He tried to get them to release a bit, and instead resigned himself to crossing his arms with his hands fisted at his sides.

He'd been on edge for the past few days. At first he'd been distracted by his new form, trying to get the hang of it. Now four weeks had passed. Sam had suggested going to heaven to scope things out but Dean wasn't ready for that, the thought kind of scared the hell out of him, and Cas had agreed that they better wait awhile in case Naomi had something planned.

But now that the voices in his head didn't seem quite so loud, he wasn't so weighed down by the righteousness or whatever the hell was in him, he'd been able to focus a little more on the words uttered before he'd gotten his "grace transplant," as he liked to call it.

He'd verbally claimed the angel, called him  _his._ He'd said he  _loved_ him, Dean was sure of it.

In some ways, it was a relief to have said the words that had been plaguing him. But Cas hadn't said one thing about it since, he hadn't even hinted. In fact, Cas barely showed any of the emotions that must be newly affecting him, so much so, that Dean was curious whether or not he was  _really, fully human._ It was frustrating. How could someone with so little experience with feelings keep them from his face so well while Dean seemed unable to keep the smallest change in mood from his own face?

Dean didn't know whether the angel simply hadn't heard him (he  _had_ had a limited windpipe at the moment and Cas had been a  _little_ distracted with the whole trying-not-to-strangle-him thing) or whether the angel  _had_ heard him but had wished he hadn't. He wanted to hope for the best, hope that Cas had been too buried and out-of-control to hear him, but he often found himself leaning the other way.

It was easy to pretend that Cas felt the same way, to push down the doubt and insecurities, but it was never long before Cas' bright, shimmering soul shining through would remind him that he didn't deserve him anyway.

As he deliberated, Dean realized a scowl painted his face and he worked to smooth it out and to think of other things.

The logical side of him had finally managed to convince him to stop being a stalker and he'd stood up, turning to pick up the chair when he heard a very clear pronunciation of a word from the man behind him:

"Dean."

That's it, it'd finally happened, he'd been found out. He pivoted on his left foot, turning slowly with an ashamed look on his face. But when he finally had the balls to look Cas in the face, he realized that he was still asleep. A very warm feeling flooded his chest, bubbling up into his throat, making him clear it.

The man's face scrunched up in anxiety (was he worried?) as he repeated his name, "Dean."

 


	14. Stone Free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Jimi Hendrix)

The pride (and a small fraction of hope) that had bubbled up inside of him were reduced to shame when Cas' next words were uttered: "Get out of here." They kind of cut at him, leaving deep wounds. He was embarrassed to have thought anything different, and he wasn't going to wait until Cas was awake to say the same thing conscious. Dean was sure to be quiet as he left Cas' room, not being able to take it if Cas caught him now.

He paced in the main room, angry at himself. He was sick of the devious hope finding its way into his thoughts when he tried so hard to keep it at bay. The whole thing was so confusing. And frustrating… Mostly frustrating. He sat down in the nearest chair and stared down at the grains in the oak table. A thought occurred to him, and it made his skin crawl. Maybe Cas was  _different_ now. Maybe he just wasn't the same without his grace. And one of the sole differences seemed to be a complete lack of affection towards Dean. The man had barely uttered two words directly to him in over a week.

The idea made him even antsier and he had to stand up to pace again. Enough with this stupid, unrequited, schoolgirl's crush on Cas, fucking enough. Clearly it'd been a stressful year and his psyche was trying to deal with it in weird ways. He'd lost too many people to not latch completely onto the ones he still had. Surely if he ignored it enough it would go away.

Before he even really made a conscious decision to do so, he'd snatched his keys up off the counter and was on his way to the nearest liquor store. When he walked in, the bell on the door ridiculously loud, he didn't really know where to begin. He had no idea what would affect him. He found the hardest alcohol they had and cleared the shelf of it, having to take a few trips to get it all to the counter without a cart.

Dean charged it all to a card. He was amazed the card cleared the huge purchase. Back in the Impala, he twisted the cap off of the nearest bottle, reveling in the sound of the seal breaking. He took a few generous swigs: nothing.

He started the car, the open bottle still in his left hand. He toured the main road, searching for a bar with a lot of cars around it. After finding one, he parked and finished the first bottle; still not feeling much.

After three bottles had been emptied and he didn't think his body could fit anymore, he had an impressive buzz warming him from the inside.

He stumbled into the building, being careful not to fall and get himself thrown out. He eyes the bar, looking for what he sought. A couple blondes caught his eye over by the pool table but he continued searching until a tall brunette with great boobs and a pretty face started smiling at him.

He made his way over, offered his hind, "Name's James, mind giving me yours?" H was suddenly very aware of the fact that it'd been what felt like years since he picked a girl up in a bar. It didn't matter; she took his hand and replied with her name: something with a 'K'. Kristen? Kim?

She made it too easy, really. Some of his cheesiest lines were enough. It wasn't long before he had a hand on her waist, guiding her towards the door.

After he pointed out the car, she turned, covering his mouth with her own. Like everything else, it wasn't the same as when he was human, but the alcohol in his system did a little to make her touches tingle on his skin. He backed her up against the car with enough presence of mind to try and be gentle. The pads of his fingers grazed her sides, creeping under the fabric of her shirt, trailing across the faintly warm skin of her hips. Her fingers were tangled in his hair on the back of his head and on the nape of his neck.

She broke off for a second to catch her breath. And (Kary? Kelly?) smiled deviously at him as she held her hand out for the keys. She opened the back door and stepped in, beckoning him to follow with the curving of her index finger.

He broke the distance between them in a rush, feverishly moving his lips against hers. Her hot tongue against the outline of his mouth did just what he needed it to do, get Cas off his mind completely for the first time in much too long.

He shrugged out of his jacket and flannel as she pulled her blouse over her head. Her fingers sought out the hem of his t-shirt and she yanked it up over his shoulders. After their mouths met again, her nimble digits trailed downward over his chest and stomach muscles. He shivered a little against her mouth and he felt an answering smile spread out across hers.

He looked her in the eyes as he inched her jeans off, and his own followed her denim onto the floor of the car. The only sounds that filled the enclosed space were shallow breaths and the scrape of skin against skin.

…

He'd waited awhile before he'd driven home, opting instead to walk around a little while the last of the alcohol burned out of his system. He'd been disappointed to find that the very thoughts he'd been trying to avoid didn't take long to find him again. He hadn't been especially eager to get back to the bunker, wanting to revel in his brief escape a little longer.

When he  _had_ driven back, the sun had already begun to light the sky and he hoped everyone was still asleep inside. He was silent as he opened the front door and walked down the hall, conscious of the squeaky steps. He could easily just use some of his power to simply transport himself inside but he felt weird about using Cas' grace for anything that wasn't necessary. Seeing how things stood now, he was even less willing.

Dean had a sneaking suspicion that Cas regretted using him as his grace-receptacle. That he would've rather just let Naomi get to it instead. He did his best to push the train of the thought out of his mind as he shrugged out of his jacket. He pushed the door of the kitchen open to start some coffee, coming face to face with both his brother and the man in question.

…

Sam lifted his eyes to the door when he heard Dean's footstep outside it. Cas had been buttering his toast but Sam could hear that he'd paused.

Dean pushed the door open, surprise lighting his eyes as they took in the both of them. Sam noticed that his clothes were a little rumpled and that an foreign red color tinted Dean's lips.

"What have you been up to?" he teased. But he snuck a sideways glance at Cas who had returned his full attention to his toast. Of course Sam had noticed something different about the two's dynamic and he found it incredibly eerie for Cas to show so little response to Dean's presence at all for the past weeks. He looked between them both and decided they needed some time to sort out their issues. Sam grabbed his mug of coffee and the newspaper from the day before and went to read in his room, hoping some progress would be made, while also keeping an ear open for any concerning exclamations.

…

Dean avoided looking at Cas after making the initial eye contact when first walking in. He turned his back to the man now sitting at the table, nibbling on toast. Dean reached for a mug, filling it with the familiar, gritty substance. He plastered on a default expression, rigid and stoic.

"How did you spend your sleepless night?" The man at the table wondered aloud.

Dean nearly spilled his coffee, the man's attempt at making conversation taking him completely by surprise.

It was almost pathetic how fast Dean spun around to answer him, much too eager.

"Went to a bar. Got laid." His voice came out more spiteful than he's intended. He realized how angry he was at him; getting saddled with grace and then ultimately being left to sort it out on his own. A light went on in his head; had tonight really been about trying to get Cas off of his mind? Or had he really been trying to make Cas jealous? And more importantly… would it work?

"Sounds like fun," Cas answered over Dean's internal reveries. Clearly it would not. He set his empty plate in the sink and left Dean alone in the kitchen.

**AUTHOR's NOTE**

**Okay, I'm the one writing this and _I'm_ even super pissed at both Cas and Dean. What do you guys think Cas was dreaming about? Any theories? Also, you may notice I updated the chapter titles (plus made very few, very minor changes to some of the chapters) so feel free to check out the songs depicted in relationship to the chapters if you're dying for some insight into each chapter or my scatter-brained intentions involved with writing each.**


	15. Lonely Is the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Billy Squier)

The unmistakable sound of a twig snapping sent him whirling around. A shiver slipped down his spine as he took in the image of the two leviathan, their souls dark and twisted and plotting beneath the human faces they hid behind. "Dean!" He urged Dean towards the portal with a nod of his head while he turned to face them alone, vowing to let the human escape without him. A brief glance back was of what he expected: Dean was conflicted, backing towards the portal with his eyes on Cas and the oncoming attack. Cas could see the wheels turning in his head and pressed him onward, again: "Dean, get out of here!"

Once he confirmed that Dean was withdrawing towards the portal, he raised his hand to issue his fight, but the lack of power surging through him made him falter. His hesitation was enough for him to be knocked to the ground, while the rotten creatures slithered past him towards the man now mere feet from the portal. Cas quickly regained his footing then raced after them, the purgatory scenery a gray blur and his legs rubbery from his fall. The first of the creatures gripped Dean around the shoulders and managed to bring him to the ground from behind. It pinned him to the hard dirt while Cas used physical strength to wrench the slower one off of the ravine.

Castiel watched as the sickening being brought its barely disguised claws up to wrap around Dean's neck, paying no mind to the ribbons of red that appeared from the path of its sharp nails. Cas' hand stretched forward towards what he knew was inevitable, a mere few feet from where he was standing. He closed his eyes to blacken the image he knew would accompany the sharp snap of the human's neck. When he reopened them, he was now the one with his hands around Dean's throat, having issued the final blow himself.

He woke then, sweat pooling at the back of his neck and dampening his sheets. Relief flooded through his body, reassured that he'd only been experiencing a dream. A "nightmare" as Sam called it. But Cas stood up quickly anyway, deciding to make sure Dean was still alive in consciousness. As he stepped through his doorway, he heard the front door slam, followed by the deep roar of the Impala's engine starting. Cas tiptoed to Sam's room, assuring that Dean had been the one to start it.

Unwilling to slip back into another restless sleep, Castiel paced around the rooms of the bunker, ill at ease with Dean out alone, even with his recent minor adjustments. His face fell at the thought and he let it remain in a frown for once, without anyone to see it. The emotion that seemed to plague him constantly now that he could actually  _feel_ emotions was what he dubbed to be guilt, and it hit him hard enough to bury him every time his thoughts ventured towards Dean or anything involving him. He did his best to keep what he was feeling hidden, kept his face blank, his words neutral. After all, Sam and Dean didn't go around proclaiming how they felt, surely he could handle the weight of the guilt, even if he felt like it was hard to breathe at times. The Winchesters had better things to do than hear about his problems, especially now that Dean was in the position that Cas had forced upon him.

He collapsed into one of the chairs in the kitchen, his face cradled in his hands. He had to admit as he traced the downward curve of his lips, it was a relief to let his emotions show outwardly. It made him a tiny bit less exhausted.

He moved his fingers to bury them in his hair, smoothing the wayward strands absentmindedly as he closed his eyes. He was at a loss of what to do. Of how to remedy the situation. Dean was an angel and Cas could see Dean viewed it as more of a hindrance than a blessing. Cas had felt bad enough by forcing such a vital part of himself into the mortal man without his permission in the first place, but Dean's constant outbursts just made him more frustrated and unable to come up with a solution. He sat that way for a couple hours, and a few tears were powerful enough to make their way through his mask and onto the hard wood of the kitchen table.

…

By the time Cas heard Sam's slow footsteps approaching from the hallway, his mask had been secured back into place and he sat back in a more leisurely position, his eyes dry and disinterested.

When he took in Cas' form in the kitchen, Sam straightened up in surprise. "Morning, Castiel," he offered after a second, already making his way to the coffee maker.

"Hello, Sam," he said in return, watching Sam's hands as they worked their practiced magic over the appliance.

After a moment, Sam noticed the man's stare and broke the silence: "You eaten, yet?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

"No." Of the adjustments he'd had to make so far, Cas had had the most trouble with remembering to eat. He usually forgot until his stomach would growl loudly and remind him or if Sam reminded him. Wanting to get it himself, Cas found a loaf of bread and unwrapped it to dispense two pieces in the toaster. He meticulously wrapped it back up and put it away while he waited the undeterminable amount of time for his toast to pop back up.

He couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard a car door slam as he waited. He was so still and concentrated trying to be sure, when the toaster popped it made him jump. Sam chuckled at him from his spot at the table, keeping his eyes on the newspaper he was skimming.

He sliced off a pat of butter for each piece of bread, listening intently and hearing the outer door close on its hinges. He busied himself, working the butter over the entire surface, being a  _little_ more careful and precise than was probably necessary.

When he heard footsteps falling a little heavily outside the kitchen door, his pulse quickened and he worked to keep his eyes way from the sound's direction. When the door opened, Cas let his eyes glance quickly at Dean, though he pulled them away as soon as they met with his homemade angel's.

He inspected the image he'd absorbed as he continued spreading. The rumpled clothing that didn't quite sit right. The red coloring surrounding Dean's mouth. He was desperate to know where he'd been, what he'd been doing, but he was appeased enough to see him alive and in person.

"What have you been up to?" He heard Sam ask with a joking edge to his voice. Castiel wasn't sure why. He waited for Dean to answer him. When Sam got up to leave the room, he felt his eyes tighten into slits; he worked to relax them. He moved over to take Sam's place at the table and to eat his toast. While Dean poured himself some coffee, Cas' curiosity got the better of him as he found himself repeating Sam's question.

"How did you spend your sleepless night?" Upon his question, Dean turned, his eyes alight with… what? Excitement?

His answer was not one that Castiel had expected: "Went to a bar. Got laid." There was a smugness to Dean's answer and in his smile that forced a feeling to swell up in Cas' chest. Yet another that he couldn't identify. He felt his face slipping into a grimace once again but he straightened it with some effort, responding to Dean with what he thought was the correct situational retort.

"Sounds like fun."

He deposited his plate in the sink and left the room as quickly as he could. Being around Dean, he'd found, only made it that much harder to stay afloat. To tread above the feelings that threatened to drown and crush him. He wanted to hear Dean's take on the situation desperately but the remorse for what he'd done that he envisioned every time he looked at Dean (who usually just scowled back at him) was too difficult. Instead he returned to his room, remembering that he needed to dress for the day.

 


	16. Pour Some Sugar on Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Def Leppard)

He finally had him cornered in the passenger seat of the Impala out on Highway 20. He may or may not have lured him out of the house and out for a drive with the promise of teaching him how to withdraw money from the ATM. After they'd reached a spot out by the woods as the sun was just settling behind them, he slammed it into park and locked the doors, turning to face the dark-haired, wide blue-eyed man riding shotgun.

Dean watched him glance at the door handle before resigning and turning to face Dean. They were both silent, staring each other down with glares – Dean's in expectation and Cas' with his constant look of disbelief and incredulousness.

Finally, Dean refused to put up with it for any longer, "Alright, Castiel. Spill already."

Cas sighed and looked out the windshield, pinching the bridge of his nose in a very human gesture. "Spill what, Dean?"

Dean leaned forward in his seat to rest his forehead against the steering wheel, closing his eyes and letting it all come out in a rush – the levee finally breaking after suppressing his discomfort for weeks.

"Why the hell do you find it so hard to be in the same room as me, leaving or ignoring me completely? Why do you confide in Sam instead of me? If you really hate being stuck with me so badly then you should leave, and if not it wouldn't kill you to be civil." He pressed his forehead harder against the hard plastic, "I just want to know what the hell is up with you, how you're adjusting, if you hate me for being the reason you had to give up your angelhood. Or, I don't know, maybe you finally got to know me for who I really am and realized how full of shit I am, I couldn't blame you for that. I just need to know why you won't look me in the face..." He'd let his voice fade out, having nothing left to say and regretting the words he'd already spoken. He snuck a glance up from behind his hand gripping the steering wheel.

From the brief glimpse he got of his face, Dean noted that it showed more emotion than he'd seen Cas express so far as a human. He wore a pained look as he studied his hands in his lap.

Cas took his sweet time answering. The silence was enough to set Dean's teeth on edge and he focused on the tightening and untightening of his fingers on the wheel grip. He was beginning to wonder if the man ever planned to answer at all.

Just when Dean was about to give up on getting answers and drive them both back to the bunker in uncomfortable silence, the man spoke.

"How do you manage it?"

"Manage what?" Dean asked without taking a breath.

"Humanity. I constantly feel like I'm being crushed by the weight of it all. The emotions, the messiness. How does anyone live this way, in this fashion?" Cas' eyes stayed forward, as if he was just wondering aloud to himself. Dean answered anyway.

"I don't think anyone really handles it. You just do all that you can to keep it from crushing you. There's not really a right or wrong way to deal. At least not that I've been able to figure out."

"What about guilt? Does it always feel this uncontrollable and unmanageable?" Cas' eyes had finally drifted away from the window and onto Dean's face. They probed his expression, searching for clues and answers. The earnestness of his questions made his soul flicker excitedly behind his skin.

"What do you have to feel guilty about, Cas?" He let his surprise show.

"What  _don't_ I have to feel guilty about?" Cas retorted with a very aptly human phrase. "I don't know how you can bear to be around me after what I forced upon you."

Dean felt his face grow even more surprised. Those piercing, blue eyes stayed trained on him, full of sadness and regret - marking Cas' words as sincere and serious.

He was angry for a moment, angry at Cas for being so frustratingly selfless, at himself for not making clear how thankful he was for merely having him in his life.

He grabbed Cas' chin roughly, looking him right in that heartbreakingly beautiful face, getting ready to yell and curse and apologize all at once.

Instead, the anger diminished almost as fast as it had appeared. He closed the small space between their faces with what felt like to him was exaggerated slowness.

Dean pressed very softly against Cas' chapped lips, his fingers still lightly gripping his chin; the whole thing unbearably sweet. Cas' lips remained unresponsive beneath his.

Dean kept his eyes closed as he pulled back and dropped his hand to release the man, half tensed for Cas' confusion, an embarrassingly innocent question, or even a punch in the nose.

Rather than any of the things he anticipated or expected, he felt a powerful hand grip the side of his neck with a thumb resting on his cheek and pressing into his cheekbone. As his eyes flashed open, his own mouth was crushed by the former angel's.

Dean was pushed back to press against his car door while Cas greedily moved against his mouth as if he was afraid they had mere moments left. The window crank was pushing hard into his back and Cas' hands were rough, making the small space seem sweltering all of a sudden. Cas' teeth nipped and kneaded his bottom lip.

It wasn't more than a few seconds before Dean's eyes fluttered closed again and he had both hands cradling either side of Cas' face. His thoughts were no longer coherent enough to revolve around rejection, innocence, or guilt.

A number of minutes passed before Cas slowed his busy lips and a few inches of space materialized between them, their eyes locked while their breathing slowed to its normal rhythm.

"You wanna explain what just happened, Cas?" Dean teased with a smile and a chuckle, planting a peck on his red lips.

"I'll let you know when I figure it out. Plus, you started it," he replied, his smile lighting his face and his eyes completely. "So all that talk about me being 'yours.' That wasn't just a ploy to try and save your life? You actually felt that way, even then?" Cas raised his eyebrows.

Dean rubbed his hand across his face, smiling in incredulity. "You heard all that, did ya?"  _Why am I not surprised?_ he thought.

"So you  _did_ mean that?" He actually looked concerned, as if Dean hadn't just professed his love by locking lips with another dude under his own free will.

"Of course I meant it," he assured him sincerely, watching Cas' lips turn up at the ends.

Dean's shoulders felt lighter than they had in a long time. He sighed contentedly, laying his head back against his head rest and looking at the roof of the car above him. He drank in the moment; feeling for once like they didn't need to talk everything out and like everything was out on the table at last.

Cas followed suit and they both sat in an easy silence until Cas broke it: "My wings look good on you, by the way."

Dean's head snapped up, "You can see them?"

Cas picked up Dean's hand, examining the lines on his palm, the warmth of his grip very faint, "Of course I can. They were mine, you know." He smiled, looking up to wink at Dean from under his lashes.

Dean just stared back at the man, sure that that the admiration he had for him was more than plain on his face. He couldn't believe he'd wasted so much time feeling tortured and miserable. He should've realized that Cas never ceased to surprise him.

"You, my friend, are unbelievable human. You're far better at it than you give yourself credit for." A delicious pink color tinged Castiel's cheeks and Dean couldn't resist leaning over to touch his lips to the warm skin. When he pulled back, Cas hitched his hand behind Dean's neck, kissing him much softer than he had the first time.

"Friends, huh?" Those blue eyes teased. Another bout of heavy breathing and the smacking of over-eager lips passed before Cas spoke up about heading back to the bunker. "Don't you think you should drive me home? Sam's probably wondering where we are." Dean turned the keys in the ignition and put it into drive, switching on a classic rock station.

He couldn't stop smiling between getting some closure at last and Cas' word choice in calling the bunker "home."


	17. The Cave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Mumford and Sons)

There were a number of things that Dean expected to find when he and Cas returned to the bunker, their fingers entwined between them on the Impala bench seat. He expected to find Sam reading or eating dinner, maybe even out getting stuff to restock the kitchen or the liquor cabinet. Hell, knowing his brother, he wouldn't even have been surprised if Sam met them at the door with a knowing smile and a suggestive wink, somehow aware of what had just occurred between him and the former angel.

Naturally, none of these things were waiting for them when they stepped through the front door (hands no longer touching – that was a conversation for another day). Dean knew something was off as soon as he pushed it open; the warmth from the night's activities left his chest and was replaced with a tense shiver that he knew all too well from years of hunting and unexpected danger.

A quick call announcing their arrival was met with silence, confirming the danger that Dean already suspected. It was unlike Sam to leave without a call, text, or note on the inside of the door.

Considering all of these things, Dean shouldn't have been surprised when they walked into the main room, Dean's gun drawn; to find Sam dead and slumped over the table. The image of his lifeless brother, still in his chair, slightly off-kilter as if he had been in the process of getting up when it happened, it all knocked the breath out of him.

Dean realized (too late) that they had grown a little too comfortable in their new home, a little too dependent on it keeping them safe.

Dean tensed his shoulders, taking in the rest of the room with a defensive stance, suddenly very aware of the silent, breathing body beside him. He glanced at Cas, signaling with a finger to his lips for him to stay quiet. He grabbed Cas' elbow with his left hand, handing him his gun and arming himself with Sam's. He led them through the rooms of the bunker, searching for the intruder responsible.

When the last room had been cleared, he practically ran back to the front room, all calmness gone. He refused to let Sam lie there motionless for another moment. The knowledge that Dean could heal him was the only thing that had allowed him to think so logically in the first place. With any immediate threats gone, Dean bent over his brother; Cas stood behind him and was still speechless from the unexpected situation, no doubt trying to work out what exactly happened.

Dean had laid his hands out over Sam's chest, trying to remember what he'd done to heal Cas before, when Cas cried out his name with his voice full of panic.

Dean turned to see an auburn-haired woman in a sickly, grey pantsuit had a hand tightly gripping Castiel's arm. Cas was writhing under her grip, unable to break free. Red ribbons of blood began to streak his skin where her nails cut him.

"Naomi, just leave him, it's me you want," Cas proclaimed, his voice resonant and unwavering despite the fear Dean could detect in his eyes.

The light bulb went on and suddenly everything made sense, "Wait, this bitch is Naomi? 'Controlled-your-mind,' 'tried-to-kill-me' Naomi?" The woman in question glared at him and Dean's anger mounted; a surge of power cycling through him, threatening to unleash itself.

Dean took a step towards the pair; his eyes searching for some solidity, some reason in Cas'. Castiel's eyes grew wide and his still tinged-pink lips opened in a gasp right before Dean felt something hard and sharp pierce his back, below his left shoulder blade.

After all of his complaining due to his lack of physical feeling since becoming an angel, he wanted to take it all back as he had  _no_ trouble feeling what he figured to be an angel blade slicing open not only his skin and flesh but his very spirit and form as well.

He could almost feel the power draining from him, escaping from the wound. He no longer had to focus on staying in his body, now it felt more like his bones were imprisoning him.

Cas held his gaze, refusing to release it. He frowned as Dean reached back to grasp his open wound with his hands, trying to staunch the flow or somehow make the pain subside. He collapsed to land on his knees.

The pain didn't ebb with time or pressure; intense waves of it continued to crash into him. It was like someone had heated sharp metal until it glowed orange and then pierced his body with it, leaving it in his back while the heat cauterized the wound, preventing any blood flow.

Cas reached his free hand out towards him, his face reflecting deep sympathy as the tears began to overflow onto his cheeks. He wriggled helplessly under Naomi's hand.

The cowardly bitch disappeared then with a smile, taking Castiel with her. The angel responsible for the hole in Dean's back walked around to face Dean, his dark eyes menacing as he pocketed the angel blade and followed in Naomi's wake.

Dean was alone; his former angel gone and his brother dead.

Sam.

While the surging pain made it nearly impossible to think about anything except for how much it hurt, he could still remember Sammy. He would always remember Sammy. He crawled the foot that separated him from his brother and gripped the back of Sam's chair – sending Sam back to land in it on the floor beside Dean.

He grabbed the arm nearest him, concentrating on Sam's broken neck to repair it, trying to visualize the tendons and bones all as they should be. After ten minutes of no results and a lot of frustrated tears and swearing, Dean slumped to the floor in exhaustion. His powers would no longer obey him, at least not in this state. The pain was too distracting to concentrate.

Dean let his head rest on the cold ground for a moment ( _imagine that, it felt_ cold) to consider his options. Panic threatened to bubble up in his throat but he knew he couldn't afford to lose hope, to accept that Sam was dead and that Cas was beyond saving.

He scoffed at the hopelessness of it all before he rolled over to fish the phone out of Sam's pocket, dialing the fourth number on the contact list, the first on he saw that would have any chance of providing help.

"Meg? Dean. Where are you?"

…

It had taken Meg about an hour and a half to get to the bunker from wherever the hell she was holed up at. An hour and a half of moaning on the floor and waiting to die.

He was doubtful Meg would be able to do anything to help but he didn't have any other choice. He wasn't thrilled at the prospect of dying in the presence of her evil ass after everything but everyone else he knew was either incapacitated, dead, or a demon.

The waiting had been agony, with nothing to do but bide his time there waiting for a demon he wasn't sure would show up.

There were moments when he let the pain overtake him and he thought surely he was on his way out. He was pushed to the point where he'd begun considering ridiculous things; like calling 9-1-1 or zapping to heaven. Or even calling for the help of another angel that would, with the day he'd been having, surely turn out to be under Naomi's thumb. That's when he'd heard the deliberate footsteps of the demon in the hallway and she showed her face at last.

Meg took in the room and stepped back in fear when she let her eyes fall on Dean's face, no doubt seeing the angelic force underneath. He could relate, his stomach rolled when he looked at her rotting, evil one.

"Relax, Crowley's Angel. I'm kind of out of action at the moment." He shifted to take some of the pressure off of his back. "That's kind of why I called." His teeth seemed to be permanently gritted and it took some effort to push all the words out through them.

She laughed,  _she actually laughed_ , before she spoke: "Really? I thought it woulda been Stretch, over there, being dead and all," she gestured to the lanky figure now sprawled on the floor.

Dean searched for some patience, "I'll be able to handle that in a while. I hope. Just tell me, is there anything you can do about this?" He gritted his teeth tighter and rolled over to show her.

After Dean had recounted the night's events, she poked and prodded, smiling as Dean winced and writhed underneath her hands.

"You remember that handy-dandy, little demon knife you Winchesters are so fond of?"

Dean flipped over to glare at her, "If you think for one minute that I'd hand it over-"

"Holy hell, I'm not an idiot. Though there's not a whole lot keeping me from finding it and leaving you here to die, now is there?" She smiled at the thought. "Sadly, I was going to mention a certain salve we demon's concocted in order to help heal those of us you were nice enough to leave alive. Who knows, it might work for this too." She shrugged, looking wearily at the grimace on Dean's face. She stood without another sentence and left him there.

"Back in a few, angel-boy," she shouted from the front door.

So, again, he was left in pain on the floor. He passed the time reimagining the many ways he could kill Meg, if he ever paid back this debt. Somehow, he ended up repeating the exorcism incantation in his head to keep his mind off of it all, afraid he might kill his only chance of survival upon her return.

While the hands on the clock sure took their time moving even the smallest increment, eventually three hours had passed and a car door slamming interrupted the Latin in his head. He kind of, deep down, hoped it would be the angels back to finish him off. Everything would be a lot simpler and at least he and Sam would be together. Then again, angels probably wouldn't choose to arrive by car and there  _was_  always the chance that the Winchesters would pull through again like they always seemed to, and that thought helped still the approach of death. He found it helped not to think of Cas at all, or what they could be doing to him upstairs.

Figures that he would lose him just after he finally got him. "Doesn't that just describe my life?" he groaned aloud.

"What does?" Meg asked him, entering the room and dumping the contents of the bag on the long table. He was wary of the contents that he couldn't see from the floor.

"You got a bowl, don't ya?" She called out as she opened the kitchen door, not waiting for an answer.

"Duh," he muttered under his breath.

She returned with the bowl and a few other things. Dean watched her hands flit across the table, cutting things up and stirring.

"What's in it for you?" Dean couldn't help asking. Her attention remained on her concoction.

"I'm guessing you mean the whole 'trying to keep one of the people I'd like to see dead most, alive' thing." She neared him with a knife and Dean stiffened, glowering at her. "Suck it up, the recipe calls for your blood, you Neanderthal." She sliced his hand open, moving the bowl to catch the drops. "But I guess the answer to your question is 'nostalgia'. I'll admit that keeping an eye on Clarence while he slept may have seated me with a tiny crush on the kid. Can't say I'm too thrilled about his current situation."

She left the room to boil her mixture and he heard her mutter some kind of spell or incantation. Dean's anger pricked up again in the way only Meg seemed capable of stirring in him. He smothered the heat in his head with the memory of his latest drive in the Impala. He was more than hoping the foul-smelling mix would offer some relief so he could send her home and do his best to ignore and forget about her completely. When she traipsed back into the room, she cut open his shirt to spread it on. As soon as it touched his skin he sighed in relief, he actually  _sighed_ , letting his eyes roll back into his head.

He could finally think straight, again. "It won't really help heal it, mind you. Think of it as a major strength painkiller while it heals itself." Meg's voice was bored and she yawned into her hand.

He could kiss her! But thought better of it considering her gnarled, demonic face. He stood to test it out. The pain wasn't gone by any means, but it had dulled to nothing worse than an ache as he stretched the muscle.

He quickly turned to Sam and concentrated with his hands on his chest, this time finding it much easier to focus on his broken neck. It wasn't more than a moment before Sam gasped as his eyes opened and his chest started to rise and fall again.

"Heya, Sammy!" Dean said cheerfully, "welcome back!" He smiled widely at his brother, the relief overtaking him.

"Uh, what?" Sam asked, his head whipping back and forth and lingering on Meg. "What's she doing here? Did she find something about Cas? 'Cuz at this point there's not a whole lot left to know."

Dean shared a glance with Meg, who shrugged. "Yeah, about all that…"

It hadn't taken long to fill Sam in on the night's events, barring those that occurred  _before_ Cas and Dean returned to the bunker. They all sat in silence for a moment at the table, letting the situation settle in.

Sam spoke first: "Well, it's obvious what we have to do."

"And what's that?" Dean wondered.

"We're sieging heaven."


	18. TNT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (ACDC)

The idea was fine and dandy in theory. But as soon as Sam was finished suggesting it obstacles began to present themselves. It's not like the Winchesters were inexperienced when it came to walking amongst other realms. Hell, Purgatory, even Heaven for God's sake, had all been past vacationing spots for them. Still, the idea of transporting himself and Sam there and then navigating the maze all by themselves was a bit daunting.  _This is_ Cas _we're talking about,_ Dean reminded himself. Plus they wouldn't me completely defensive, they had a few angel blades in their possession to arm themselves with.

While Sam began sewing up Dean's wound with his precise stitches, hoping to speed up the healing process, Meg made an announcement that stilled Sam's hands and made Dean's head snap up: "You clowns know I'm coming too, right?" Dean had almost forgotten she was there while he and Sam had been deciding what to do exactly.

Sam was the first to regain his composure, "Can a demon even enter heaven?" He asked seriously, the question deflecting the idea rather well in Dean's opinion.

"Angel have been to hell, so why the hell not? I don't trust you egg heads to get the flightless bird out of it's cage, let alone to be man enough to kill the cat that put him there." She flicked her hair over her shoulder, "It's my turn to kick some angel ass." Her eyes were excited by the prospect. Dean felt the anger flare up a little again with the reminder of how partial Meg was to Cas.  _His_ Cas.

"I guess it couldn't hurt," Dean offered to Sam's surprise - the stitch he was working on was pulled a little tighter than was necessary. "As long as you keep a low profile and don't get us all killed."

Once Dean was vertical again, they began to plan the siege, some details admittedly fuzzy due to their limited knowledge of the landscape.

Dean spent a whole hour practicing transporting, first alone then with Sam and Meg. After he could do it a few times without missing his target (and a brief stint in which accidentally landed them in the Pacific ocean), he was itching to get the rescue mission started. He didn't really think Naomi would kill Cas. She could've done that instead of taking him and she had no real reason to - save for disobedience. But if he arrived at the pearly gates and he was wrong and too late, well, to say he'd never forgive himself would be an understatement.

…

The teleporting part turned out to be pretty simple. An arm around Sam and Meg and a few moments landed them on a road where the sun was just a little too bright in Sam's eyes to be the mortal realm. Heaven was just as he remembered it, the lights bright and the shadows too dark. They were in the middle of a county road, fields on either side, no animals within the barb-wired fences.

Dean looked overwhelmed to say the least; one hand on his scalp, his fingers burrowing into his hair while the other rested on the blade inside his jacket. His eyes were darting back and forth, Sam guessed that he was seeing something that he couldn't. "Hey, dude. Relax. What's up?" He asked him, feeling a bit uneasy himself due to Dean's restlessness.

"It's just a lot to take in, ya know?" Dean said, removing his hand from his hair.

"Um. Not really. It's just an empty road. To me, at least." He looked at Meg, who seemed to have survived the trip upstairs unscathed. She looked to share Sam's point of view of their surroundings. "Why? What do  _you_ see?" Sam raised his eyebrows, requesting an explanation.

Dean reached his hand out, his fingers tracing a diagonal line in front of him.

"Well, there's kind of these.. I don't know, energies? Like all these trails and coils of different forces crossing everywhere. They're all these different widths and… colors, but not really. It's hard to explain." His hand was carding through his hair again. "You guys really don't see them?"

Sam and Meg both shook their heads at him. Sam squinted and looked around, trying to see what his brother saw.

"What are they? Either you're having angel issues or you've finally lost your already demented mind," Meg merrily pointed out.

"I'm pretty sure they're trails angels have left behind, or they're just connected to individual somehow. I know they're not linked to souls at least, I'm familiar with those." He studied the so-called invisible coils around them, tracing another one close to his arm.

Meg laughed, "Keep an eye out for Naomi's, if you can recognize it." She winked at Dean and started off down the road. "You lugs just gonna stand there?" She threw a smirk over her shoulder at them.

Dean smiled, patting Sam on the back and following the demon, Sam close behind him.

…

The road eventually morphed into more of a city, with tall and short and wide buildings that didn't really fit together logically if you looked closely; a skyscraper protruding out of a library, a gas station jutting out of the side of an office building. The change wasn't gradual. They'd lifted a foot to take another step on the pavement of the road and put it down on the cobblestones paving the sidewalk downtown, the change in scenery leaving Sam and Meg dazed. There was a certain air of familiarity about it that Dean just kind of accepted.

Along with the concrete came an onrush and crowding of people, all racing in and out of the structures, clad in suits and skirts and in a hurry. The Enochianwhispering he'd heard on Earth were nothing compared to how loud the assaulting language was in his head now. It was amazing anyone could ignore its sheer volume and mass of voices.

In the midst of it all, Dean wanted to stop and stare, the angelic vessels doing nothing to hide the raging, massive forces underneath in their natural setting. Each had a coil of energy spanning out behind them, marking the path they'd just taken. His theory confirmed about the trails being connected to specific angels, he was hyperaware in case they happened to cross Naomi's. He was sure he'd recognize it if they crossed it. He spent a moment wondering if he looked similar to the creatures swirling around them, with all the wings, faces, and mass, or if his time in hell had an effect on Cas' form - dulling the edges or muting the colors. Judging by the pairs of eyes that stuck to their entourage, either he suspected correctly or Meg was drawing more attention than was probably helpful.

Dean panicked that they'd be attacked or stopped at the least. He quickly snatched Meg's arm in a possessive grip as he was escorting her; it earned him a death glare from the demon but she didn't question him. It seemed to work because the angels continued to pass with their disapproving glances and angry frowns.

With the angels all too preoccupied to spend any time confronting a wayward demon in heaven, it seemed finding someone who would be willing to give them the time of day for directions was somewhat unlikely.

Completely out of their element, the boys let Meg lead them through the crowded street, too lost to be ashamed of their ignorance and dependence on the demon.

They walked into the nearest building, one with a lot of shiny windows that reflected things that weren't present outside of them.

Meg marched up to a desk positioned near the door, what looked like a receptionist, and gave both the boys a meaningful look. She raised an eyebrow at Dean, urging him to speak for them.

Dean didn't skip a beat, "You wouldn't happen to know where we might find 'Naomi,' would you?" The angel behind the desk, a somewhat conservative one with only one face, lifted her head and stared back at him, little recognition showing in her features. She then looked up to take in Sam's full size and to look Meg up and down with obvious disdain.

Dean cleared his throat before continuing, "Uh, she's about yea-big," he raised his hand, "she- I mean her vessel, has brown hair, pulled back. She wears a grey pantsuit?" The three waited for an answer, any kind of answer. Silence dragged on and their plan suddenly seemed like a very bad idea.

The angel was looking at them like they were crazy, almost like she was trying to figure out if they were serious or not.

Dean wanted to backtrack, and fast. He plastered on a playful smile, "Haha. Just kidding of course. Sheesh, where is everyone's sense of humor these days?" He shook his head, faking dismay.

The angel finally cracked a semblance of a smile. "For a moment I thought you were serious. I thought, 'why would any angel ask for directions?' You have to admit, Castiel, that you've never been one for jokes." She was polite but there was still a look in her eyes that looked to Dean like suspicion.  _Ah, right, he looked like Castiel up here. Fucking weird._ It would probably do him good to act a little more restrained and awkward if they were going to pull this off.

He continued smiling and started backing away, pulling his oh-so helpful, silent companions with him towards the door. "Just trying something new," he assured, "have a good one." The angel's smile fell and she went back to squinting after them.

They thought it best to get out of there fast.

 _Wham._ Hold on, he recognized that one. When they'd exited the building, they'd veered to the left to get out of the angel's sightline. When Dean had walked through one of the coils, it occurred to him that he recognized the angel that left the trail. Concentrating on the familiarity of the power line, he hooked an arm around both Sam and Meg's elbows, transporting them all to the angel's current position.

He opened his eyes once they'd reached their destination, and Dean had crossed the small office and unsheathed his blade before either Sam or Meg had even taken a step.

Now face to face with the angel that had so thoughtfully stabbed him in the back not fifteen hours before, he felt a pulse of pleasure as he held the tip of his blade to the angel's neck, giving a less-than-humble wink at his surprise.

"I'm guessing you'll be able to figure out why we're here." He let the anger he'd been working to suppress spread out into his words, giving his voice a nice, calm, dangerous edge.

Dean let the sharp tip of the angel blade slice him ever-so-slightly and panic filled the angel's face, all arrogance and smugness long gone from earlier in the night.

"Speak up, please. My friends over there don't have the best hearing." He glanced back at Sam, who seemed content to let Dean handle it. Meg, on the other hand, made no effort to hide her hatred for the angel in her eyes.

The angel finally found his voice: "Next floor up. Biggest office. North Side." He looked relieved when Dean removed the blade from his neck, but he was a little too happy to disappoint him when he moved around behind him to cover his faces with one arm. The blade impaled his chest, Dean's hand insuring he stayed quiet (quite the feat considering he had two faces and mouths). But that did nothing to stop the powerful shaking and mighty force that rattled the walls.

Now they'd have to hurry, they could already hear the quick footsteps of angels outside the door as they came to investigate. Once they saw the scorched wings across the walls, Dean didn't think it would take long for them to piece together what had happened.

…

Dean thrust his blade into the angel that rounded the corner just in time to watch Sam drop one of its sisters. An uncomfortable thought wriggled into his mind:  _what if they weren't all bad, what if not all of them knew what Naomi was up to?_ Sure, part of him worried. But most of him was busy marveling at how  _fucking good_ it felt to get back in the game. The thrill of danger, the threat of an enemy; he wasn't too good to admit to himself that he's missed it for the past months as he'd been healing and they'd been busy with all the angel antics.

This ideology probably meant there was something terribly wrong with him on a very basic level but he was enjoying himself too much to really care.

They'd made their way to Naomi's floor and office fairly quickly, having no other choice with more and more angels coming to investigate the commotion. Meg's presence had been pretty helpful with all of them easily assuming she was the one responsible for their dead brethren on the floor. If Dean was completely honest, they probably wouldn't have survived if Meg hadn't come with.

They did take pause when they reached her floor. These angels hadn't been privy to the noise or fighting on the floor below. They hid their weapons, pacing themselves to a walk as they approached the north side of the level. These angels seemed to give them little attention, all too busy to give a crap about an angel, human, and demon party traipsing through their building.

Naomi's office, marked by the many trails weaving in and out of the area, was fortunately at the end of a long hallway, keeping it secluded from everyone else by at least a few dozen feed and putting them out of the other angel's sightlines.

They all had their ears pressed up to the door when they heard movement from the other end of the hallway, an angel alerting the others to the carnage he's just found on the floor below. Meg volunteered to stay in the hallway, guarding against in case they came looking for the culprits in their direction. Dean and Sam returned their ears to the door.

Sam had to put a restraining hand on Dean's shoulder when Naomi's voice seeped through the door, "I don't tolerate disobedience very well, Castiel."

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

**I really am sorry for how long it takes me to write a chapter. Honestly, I have been _pretty_ busy but I think most of it has to do with procrastination. Thanks so much for being patient! Let me know what ya think!**


	19. Hopeless Wanderer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Mumford and Sons)

_So he was alive at least,_ Dean had to think to console himself. That was just enough to keep him from breaking the door down right then and destroying Naomi as slowly and painfully as he could manage.

But Naomi's next words sent all of the calm and patience from his body, in fact, a few chills trembled down and around his spine: "I'm embarrassed to not think of it sooner. Angels without their grace.  _Mortals…"_ She said the word with disdain and what Dean was sure was a sneer, "well, they're just so easy to  _torture._ Practically anything is sharp enough to break the skin!" Her excitement at the prospect was disgusting. Sam had elected to place another restraining hand Dean's way and now both hands were gripping Dean's shoulders.

When a pained gasp followed by a strained whimper punctuated her words, Dean was livid. No amount of strength on Sam's part would keep him from entering that room and tearing the bitch limb from limb.

With his hands on the door, about to yank it open, Sammy frustrated beside him, a resentful groan, Naomi's, gave them pause. "Don't worry Castiel, I won't be long." The following flutter of wings was even audible through the door. She must have caught wind of the drama they'd left in their wake and gone to investigate.

Dean couldn't open the door fast enough, desperate to get to the man he could now hear hyperventilating and struggling against whatever was restraining him.

Dean's mouth popped open as his eyes got ahold of the scene. Cas, held down in what looked like a dentist's chair, had hundreds of skinny, shiny, bleeding cuts marking his bare arms. The hatred that flared inside of him blinded him for a moment, rendering his vision as red as the blood now staining Castiel's clothes. He rushed forwards, putting a hand on each of Cas' cheeks. Recognition and relief flooded his pale face and eyes at the contact. "Dean," was all he could offer in a whisper as acknowledgment. He leaned into Dean's touch.

"Shit," Sam marveled. It took him a minute to find the key to the wrist restraints because, by God, nothing about this could possible turn out to be  _easy._

When they pulled Cas up to stand, he tried to hold back a tortured cry and he almost fell before Dean caught him in a protective hold. The goddamn angel had broken both of his legs.

"Let's get him out of here," Sam urged, putting a shoulder under Cas' other arm. They both supported half of him and Dean willed himself to ignore the tears streaming down Cas' face until they were out of this hellhole.

"We gotta get Meg," Dean grunted back through his teeth. Considering the part she played in all of this, it wasn't right to leave her. Plus, if he did, he just  _knew_ Cas would be pissed about it later. They started shuffling towards the door when the familiar sound of wings made Dean's heart sink. "On second thought…" he whispered, barely making a sound.

Naomi took in the three of them, a smug edge to the set of her mouth and in those sharp eyebrows. She was positioned between them and the door, just begging Dean to destroy her. "Can't say I'm pleased to see that you survived, Dean. You're what we like to call 'an abomination', taking in an angel's grace like that."

Dean wasn't about to stick around for the small talk, but when he tried to transport them out of there without success, he figured their lack of a getaway was the source of the pleased look on her face. "I've always been a rebel," he kept his voice calm and he even slipped in a wink for her benefit.

She turned her attention to the broken man between him and Sam, "Leaving so soon, Castiel?" Her words sent a shiver through Cas that tightened Dean's fingers around the blade in his jacket.

"I assume you Winchesters are the source of all the chaos? All for this hollow, graceless angel?" She scoffed, like a friggin' villain in a Batman movie. "I'm sorry to say I haven't quite finished with him. He still has quite a bit to learn about authority. If anything, I can make him into an example." Her eyes were piercing, trained on Cas' face, who tried to hide in Dean's shoulder. If he didn't have the fragile man clinging to him, Dean probably would've charged across the room, thrashing at her blindly.

Cas' fragility had less of an effect on Sam, making him less hesitant to face the angel. He carefully removed his shoulder from under Cas' arm. Dean turned to hold Cas up as he began to slip. When Sam barely got within inches of Naomi, he was thrown back and he landed hard on his shoulders, his head was thrown back against the hard, ceramic floor with a nauseating crack.

"Come on!" Naomi chided, "You think a weak, little human is  _any_ kind of challenge for me?" She looked incredulous and Dean was eager to wipe the look off of her face.

Dean retained enough presence of mind to touch two of his fingers to Cas' forehead before lowering him steadily to the ground, unwilling for him to experience anymore pain as it seemed they wouldn't be getting out of this mess as soon as he'd hoped. He met eyes with his adversary. He revenge he craved there for the taking, a small glimmer of thankfulness rising up inside him due to his brother's failure.

Naomi seemed pleased to have her shot at him, too. A wide smile showed her sickeningly white teeth and she moved her hand, letting the bright lights in the room reflect off of the silver blade she held. Whether it was an invitation or a threat, he accepted the former and pressed forward. As he lunged for her, he noticed the smaller, less eye-catching knife in her other hand a moment too late. He'd been prepared for a jab from the bigger knife but the smaller was the one she raised to stab into his right arm, forcing him to drop his own weapon as he reached to cover the open wound with his left hand.

Time seemed sort of slowed down as Naomi raised her other blade, ready to strike. Dean wasn't ready to accept his defeat, his brother and the man he loved mere feet away on the floor with no chance of escape after his death. He didn't want to accept it, but that didn't mean he had a choice. Naomi probably would've seen it as cowardly, heck, anyone would have, but when Dean smashed his eyelids down to try and push himself to be peaceful, to take the death that he'd managed to stave off for so long. He did his best to stifle the feeling of failure, that lurking feeling of not being able to save the ones he loves. He was sure that is would probably follow his soul wherever it went, that is if he still had a soul now that he had grace.

The strike he'd been expecting didn't come right away, and his eyes shot open to see a sliver of silver poking out of Naomi's chest, her mouth slack as a flash of light overtook the room, burning her wings to the floor and walls.

"Surprise," Meg drawled as the angel dropped to her knees, revealing the petite demon behind her.

_Are you serious?_ Dean thought. Actually, he might have even said it out loud considering Meg's eye roll. Sure he was grateful to not be reduced to a corpse with matching wing markings bordering his dead body, but he was definitely not grateful enough to ignore the fact that Meg,  _MEG,_ got to waste the bitch after all the shit he'd been through to get here and face her. It was super annoying, but considering the situation, he could afford to save his annoyance for later.

He practically ran to Sammy, pulling him to his feet after giving him his consciousness back. Sam shook his head a bit, investigated the room, then he helped Dean lift Cas up again. Dean ignored the sharp pain in his arm and suggested that Meg grab on before he left her in heaven, vainly hoping she'd let go mid-transport and that something terrible would happen to her.

He'd taken them to his own room in the bunker when they all opened their eyes (it was closest to the kitchen and the front door). Dean carefully deposited Cas on his bed but paused with his hands on the man's chest before healing him.

"What are you waiting for?" Sam prodded. Meg simply crossed her arms and tapped her foot to accomplish the same thing.

"Hold up," Dean explained. He grabbed Sam's arm and tugged him closer. "I need to copy Cas' angel scratched." He looked thoroughly at the markings littering Sam's ribs and committed them to memory. He then turned to Cas to print them on his ribs as well before he was awake to feel it. The deed done, e turned to Meg. "Unless you wanna have heavenly brands on you, too, get out of here. You'll lead 'em right to us if anyone caught wind of us."

Meg seemed to deliberate for a second before she stalked out of the room. "That was a hell of a 'thank you'," she grumbled. "Whatever, angel-boy," she then sighed, resigned.

Relieved to have her gone at last, he got back to the task at hand. He tenderly laid his hands on Cas' chest. After some concentration, his wide eyes popped open.

First the deep blues were tinged with blankness but they quickle shifted to fearful as he looked around and started to sit up. "Naomi?"

After Dean gave him a pointed look, Sam left the room, placated by Cas' consciousness and awareness.

Dean took the opportunity to sit on the side of the bed, his hand stroking the hair on the side of Cas' head. "You're safe now, Cas." He considered other ways of saying it, but "She's dead," was all that came out.

He wasn't sure how he'd take it. She was a member of his family, after all (not to mention all the other angels who got in their way – but that could wait for later). To Dean's relief, Cas threw his arms around Dean's waist and pulled him closer, snuggling into his side.

They were all counting on the hope that everyone who had been connected the ecents of the day had no knowledge of their whereabouts, but there was always the chance that they were wrong. So for the first time since he'd been forced to give of all of his human-y things, Dean was actually glad he didn't feel the slightest pull of lethargy as Castiel slept off the day's stress beside him.

While one of his hands lazily scratched Cas' back to keep him relaxed and asleep, the other tightly gripped the blade that had practically been glued to his hand for the whole day. His eyes meticulously scanned to room and he listened for any disturbance throughout the bunker.

But just because he was thankful for his easy wakefulness, didn't mean that he didn't desperately want to crouch down with Cas and revel in the sleepy bliss with him. He would have if he could have. He would've simply protected him in sleep with just his enclosing arms and legs. As nice as that would be, the precious cargo nestled into his side meant he didn't mind being on watch all too much. So he laid still, with his back at an awkward angle that would've hurt if he was mortal, his shoes still on, and with Cas' hands tangled in his shirt. He stayed like that until Cas' squinty eyes opened and a shy smile stretched across his lips.

"What were you dreaming about?" Dean asked with an easy smile, remembering.

"What? Do you get your freak on watching other people sleep?" Cas responded, his smile growing wider as he crawled up onto Dean's chest. Dean chuckled in his ear at their shared memory.

THE END

 

  
**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

**So that's all folks! Not really though, because I'm planning to write an epilogue, that will undoubtedly be too short and unsatisfying. But anywho, thank you all for reading! Sorry about the lack of *ahem* _mature_ scenes regarding Dean and Cas, but I kinda sorta gave my sister the link to this story and I was hoping to be able to look her in the face the next time I saw her. I might write an accompanying mature scenario if you guys are interested (which you are  _so_ not allowed to read, Coty, if you made it this far). Alright, back on topic.**

**I hope you guys were satisfied by the ending, look forward to writing more stories in the future!**


	20. Epilogue

Dean was totally content with keeping his and Cas' relationship to themselves. He was fully prepared to indefinitely leave Sam in the dark about the whole thing.

But when Cas mentioned the possibility of Sam walking in on them full-frontal (a scene that was becoming more and more likely), Dean was forced to reconsider. He'd been admittedly disappointed when they'd told him, Cas using words like "intimate" and "romantic," making Dean blush, and Sam had simply started laughing before he confirmed that he had already known.

Turns out you can only stave off suspicion for so long after so much whispering behind closed doors and waking up to suggestive noises. And it turns out Dean can only take so much of that conversation before he needs to get out of the house and take a drive.

As far as everything angelic goes, their heavenly problems seemed to end when Naomi did. Castiel had grieved for a while about his family that had died in order for him to be rescued and for him to make his escape, and Dean had a feeling that when he said he was over it he was just putting on a brave face – something he'd probably learned firsthand from being around the Winchesters for so long.

Dean couldn't really call him on it; he was busy doing the same thing. He knew he should be happy, should be ecstatic that they were both alive and it seemed like they would be for a while at least. But not being able to sleep with Cas, not really being able to feel Cas, not being able to grow old with Cas – it weighed on his conscience all the time. Luckily, Dean Winchester had always been the king of emotional suppression and he kept his mouth shut about his minor (and one major) concerns.

So when Cas left the bunker for the day without offering an explanation like he normally does, Dean was curious but he didn't question it. However, he had plenty of questions when Cas returned with another person. Another angel. Turns out Castiel wasn't as unobservant as Dean had suspected.

Cas' grace transplant had taken a lot from him, but he managed to maintain his subscription to angel radio somehow, something he had failed to mention to Dean. It had taken time, but Cas had tracked down one of the few friends he still had on his side up in heaven and when he heard he was going to make a quick trip to Earth, Cas was sure to be there to meet him.

"Surprise," Cas had offered when Dean had started in on his first questions concerning the random angel's presence. Instead of explaining he'd simply asked, "Are you ready to be human again?"

Dean wasn't stupid, he could recognize the merits and advantages of having someone with angelic powers in their midst, the Winchesters could always make use of a good healing, but he had a lot of trouble focusing in on those facts when Castiel dangled the choice in front of him.

"How's it work?" had been Dean's eager response.

The de-gracing had been (minimally) painful, but it went off without a hitch. It tends to go a lot smoother when you don't have to literally rip it out of yourself with your bare hands.

Cas politely declined taking it back in himself, the thought of permanent humanity and free will proving to be too enticing. It wouldn't have really solved their mortal-immortal dilemma, either. Dean guessed he was still more than a little traumatized from what he was almost forced to do the last time he had it in him. Plus it's not like it's permanent. Now the grace just sits in a sort of locket around Dean's neck, where it's well protected according to Cas. It's always an option in case things get too desperate.

Dean's pretty excited about the whole 'having-a-soul-again' thing and not having to cease to exist if an angel blade finds its way into his heart. Now there's the promise of an afterlife. And as funny as the word "forever" sounds coming out of Cas' mouth, Dean's pretty okay with the idea.


End file.
